#mirror magic gun

[fauslayer]

him and his only friend, the dead child hes theoretically been waiting ~15 years to meet

[flamestar126]

Game Night with Douglas

Click for better quality

What happens after Douglas leaves for a second

rambling about their outfit in tags

[oreo-creampies]

“𝐜𝐮𝐦 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧’ 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 (𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲!)”

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭! Sukuna fucks you, queen of the fae, into a messy cum covered whore

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! queen of the fae!reader, demon king!sukuna (true-form), size kink, hentai logic lets say his monster sized cock fits in your fairy cunt, pussy drunk, overstimulation/hints of mindbreak, cock-drunk, monster sized cocks one has a knot the other is softly ribbed, HUGE HUGE HUGE SIZE KINK, sensitive wings, squirting, degradation/some praise, sukuna is 10ft tall in this one, your pussy is like a pocket of holding and it can take that shit, lets say you have tits even if you don’t for this one, titty fucking, double pentration (cunt and anal), pain kink, restraining/rough manhandling, fucking you in front of a mirror then on the bed, reader has magical abilities, sukun eats your ass a little with one of his hand’s mouth, sukuna is mean but gentle with your wings, pussy slapping, some anal fingering (he doesn't touch you with the hand after), belly bulge from both his cock and cum, squirting his cum when he pushes on your stomach, he covers you in his cum too, fingering

Fey; i get it if you judge me for this one, but in my defense my coochie held me at gun point to write this one. I'm giving you one more warning to use hentai logic with this one!!!

Sukuna strokes the base of your iridescent wings making them stretch out and flutter. Trembling, arching your back, digging your nails into the arm of the hand clenching your waist. Getting off on how Sukuna can hold you up, to use like a cocksleeve, with one massive hand.

“I look so big taking your stupid lil bratty ass from behind, look at yourself, you’re built like a handheld toy for me to use whenever I want.” Sukuna that’s massive, from his height to his hands, to the cocks stretching out both of your sloppy wet holes.

He croons, “You’re hot crying with your tiny wings fluttering n’ your stomach bulging.” Slowly stretching your wings out then pulling you upright by a firm grasp on your throat. Your wings occasionally brush Sukuna’s warm chest.

Your sloppy wet cunt is gushing on his cock, thick warm cum squirts and trickles onto the floor. Both of your wet holes quiver, clenching his thick cocks.

Sukuna moans, “Stupid slutty lil princess make a mess on my cocks, cumming so damn much you’ve made a puddle on the floor.

His four eyes fixating on how his thick knot tugs on your cunt. “Nnnn look at that you’re clenching me too tightly for me to pull out?” You squirm and cry when he sucks on your clit with a hand’s mouth.

Insisting, “Princess? I'm a queen?!” He licks your cock-stuffed cunt with a hand’s tongue. When he moves his hand away you’re fixating on how your cunt is split into a perfect circle by his thick knot.

Sharply crying when Sukuna pinches your sensitive clit. “Yet you’re taking my cocks like a common whore.” He roughly pulls his knot and cocks out eliciting a needy whine from you when you’re empty.

Dropping you on the massive nearby bed which floats with with a wave of your hand. “It doesn't make me any less a queen.” Spreading your legs for him, “It just means I'm a queen whose a monster cock loving slut.”

Sukuna pins your thighs by your side, lining his bottom cock up and nudging your asshole with his cockhead. Unlike his other cock’s blunt head it has a thinner cone-shaped like tip, which gets thicker after each soft ridge.

He rests his other cock on top of you, covering your cunt and resting between your tits. “And to think you were just takin’ me in your soft lil‘ cunt, I knew fae magic was something else but this is isn't what I expected.” His cock is so big, yet he feels no deeper than your belly button when inside.

Pressing your breasts together, squeezing his fat cock. He grabs your hair yanking your head up, making you look at his cock peeking out from between your tits.

Sukuna groans when you lick his cockhead. “I wonder how much you can take before your magic runs out and you break.” Slowly rolling his hips fucking your soft ass, his cock on top stroking your sensitive clit.

Pleading with Sukuna, “Break me, fuck! Nnn it won't be too long before I'm ready for more! Please! I can't get enough they’re so big, I can't get enough! Please fuck me with both cocks please! Please! Please!” He covers your mouth sticking his fat tongue into your mouth, you can faintly taste yourself.

“What? You’re looking up at me like you want to kiss some different lips.” He smirks gliding himself out of your ass and takes his other cock off your body to let them both hang

He leans down, “Hah you’re too small to properly kiss me.” You lean forward covering his larger lips in kisses, sliding your fingers into his hair.

“I can cover you in kisses.” Sukuna’s lips covers your cheek when he kisses you. Standing up he’s a ten foot monstrous demon and you love it. You love how small you feel beneath him, restrained in a mating press for him to mercilessly fuck both sensitive, sloppy wet holes.

He roughly smacks your cunt, licking your asshole with his thick tongue. The sharp pain rips wonderfully through the pleasure of having your ass ate. Loudly pleading, “Fuck me please, please fuck me. I wanna cum again!”

“Greedy lil brat is a better title for you, after you squirted and made a mess all over my floor you’re begging to cum again.” Another harsh slap to your cunt has you crying.

Pleading with Sukuna, “Im a greedy slut for your thick cocks! I can't help it! It feels like I'm about to go into heat. Please use whatever hole you want my King it gets me off how you use me for your pleasure.” Grabbing the bottle of lube left on the bed, taking his tongue out of your ass.

He pours a lot onto your tight hole then stuffs it in with two thick fingers. Some of the lube drips onto the sheets, “Good girl.” Pumping his fingers faster, smearing the lube. “Call me me your King again.”

He lines himself up, “Please fuck me My King.” He roughly stuffing both holes in a swift thrust. Your body tenses up with a sudden jolt, he’s too big. And being unable run away from the overwhelming intensity magnifies it.

Sukuna demands, “This is my sloppy lil’ cunt to cum in till I get bored of you. Say it!” Putting his weight into your thrust watching your stomach expand when his cock nestles in deep.

“Nnnn!” You can’t focus his words his cock stretching out both holes making the strip of skin between go taunt. You’re a fuck toy for him and it feels so good.

He’s so perfect from cocky smirk, to the condescending way he is looking down at you, and his thick cocks stirring you up pushing you towards cumming again.

He sneers, “Are you already too cock drunk?” Trailing his fingers gently along the top of one of your expanded wings. “Be a good girl and tell me who owns you brat.” Licking your clit with his stomach’s tongue, the pleasure is building rapidly.

Even after squirting on his cock he’s getting you this worked up so fast. It's hard not to with the intense stimulation from Sukuna licking your clit whilst mercilessly fucking you sloppy holes into a loose with his monster cocks.

You whine, “You do my King! ‘S your cunt! Nnn I wanna covered in your cum.” Picking up his pace, even with your magic the bed is rocking. “Fuck you’re so big! Nnnn please please! I'm your good girl.” Grabbing his thick, tattooed forearms, digging your nails in.

“Good girls get cummed in don’t they?” He fondled your breasts, biting and sucking on your nipple. The way he’s toying with your body is wonderful.

You beg him, “We shouldn't, we aren't married, but I want you to! Nnnn! Fuck! You’d cum so much, I would be so full!” Softly clutching the sheets when he flicks your tongue faster, adding a little more pressure. “I wanna feel your warm cum.”

A couple more strokes and your reasoning is quickly crumbling as you cum. All you can think about are his cocks throbbing inside you, filling both holes up. It’s too tempting you're begging with Sukuna, “Please cum! Please cum! Wanna feel your warm thick cum!”

He wonders, “How long did you spend making a spell that can let you take cocks bigger than you should. Or did it come naturally to a slut like you?”

You’re unable to process his question instead you’re loudly moaning, “Please cum! Please! Please! My king! Daddy! Sir! Please! Suukunnna.” Sukuna squeezes your throat and lifts you off the bed. Using his grasp on your throat and his to make you meet his merciless thrusts.

It’s hot to hear Sukuna sound so needy as he whines, “Nn!!! Nn! ‘S tight, wet! Fuck!” He grabs your hair yanking your head back so he can watch you cry while he fucksyou. Keeping eye contact with two eyes while the other two fixate on how your stomach bulges.

Softly growling and grunting “Mine! All fuckin! Nnnnn! Stupid pretty lil’ brat.” His jaw drops with needy loud whines as he loses himself in the intoxicating pleasure of your wet holes clenching his cocks.

There is a crash as the bed hits the floor. Sukuna turns around and lies down on an uneven half-broken bed. He digs his heels into the bed and roughly rutting his hips. “Fuck so damn hot! So fucking small, I wanna make you cry and ruin your tight cunt.”

You lean forward resting your hands on his abs above his stomach’s mouth. “Please cum! Sukuna please!” He softly growls then fucks you harder making it hard for you to string a word together in between your cries.

His brows pinch together and his jaw drops with a loud groan. “C-cum on mmmmm!” It’s impossible to think with the way your soft, soaking-wet holes are gripping and rubbing his cock. Your tears rolling down your beautiful face spurring him on getting him so close to cumming inside you.

“Cry! Louder! Fuck me!” Your cunt spasms as you cum on Sukuna’s thick cock. Sukuna’s eyes roll back, shoulders curl in and he tosses his head back. Whining loudly, “Nnn too-too too tight! Too much! Please!” Thick hot cum spurts in your stomach making it swell.

When he lets your throat go you use your first steady breath to whine “Please?” Sukuna's cheeks flushes a dark shade of pink matching his hair. He stuffs a finger in your mouth and fondles your soft breast, sucking on your nipple.

His cock pulses as more thick cum keeps trickling out. Your aching holes spasm around his cock. It’s wonderful to be so full of Sukuna’s cum and cocks.

He rolls over, towering over you with two massive cocks stuffed in each hole. “Don’t think this means we are done. Im going to clean up then see if your lil’ bratty cunt can take both of my cocks.” Slowly gliding his cocks out, Sukuna pushes on your building stomach making his cum squirts onto his hand and the bed.

Sukuna smears his thick cum over your thighs, tits, and waist. Gliding his finger inside you costing himself in cum which he stuffs into your mouth. “How do we taste?” You groan whilst sucking his thick finger as he holds his dirty hand to your asshole, licking your cum filled asshole.

He pulls his finger out with a wet pop. “Bitter, but I love being filled with and feeling your cum gushing out of me!” Lifting you off the bed by your hair Sukuna dangles you in front of the mirror.

“You look hotter covered and dripping with my cum.” He glides a thick finger into your cunt, pushing more thick cum out of you faster with slow pumps.

Letting your hair go causing you to flutter your wings to afloat. “How long can you keep hovering with those little wings while I'm fingering you?”

Oreo’s m.list

[unboundprompts]

Hii!! I came across your blog and immediately followed since I thought I might needed some help with my fanfics, and if there's one thing I'm bad at is describing fight scenes with like guns or magic, I've been struggling to write it and did some practices and didn't like how they came out, I'm hoping if you can do some fighting prompts, I hope this isn't too much!!

How to Write Fight Scenes

-> check out @howtofightwrite , they are an excellent resource for writing realistic fight scenes.

Set the Stakes Early

Why are they fighting? Establish the stakes of the fight clearly before it begins. If the reader understands what’s at risk, they’ll feel more invested. Stakes could be personal (revenge, survival), emotional (protecting a loved one), or strategic (achieving a mission).

Use the Environment

Incorporate the setting to add depth and realism. Are they fighting in a cramped alley, an open field, or a crowded city street? Describe how the environment affects movement, line of sight, or weapon use.

Vary Sentence Length for Pacing

Short sentences create tension and speed, while longer sentences allow for brief moments of reflection or description.

Incorporate Sensory Details

Highlight the senses beyond sight to ground the reader in the fight. Describe the smell of sweat, the metallic taste of blood, the weight of a sword, or the deafening roar of a gun.

Example: “Her ears rang as the blast reverberated around the alley. Smoke filled her nose, thick and choking, but she ignored it, tightening her grip on her weapon.”

Focus on Key Moments, Not Every Movement

Avoid blow-by-blow descriptions. Instead, highlight critical moves, reactions, and turning points to keep the scene flowing and avoid overwhelming the reader.

Show Physical Strain and Fatigue

Fights take a toll, especially over time. Show characters struggling to keep up, panting, sweating, or even stumbling as exhaustion sets in.

Example: “Her arms ached, each swing feeling heavier than the last. Her breathing came fast, ragged, but she couldn’t stop now.”

Capture Emotions and Mindset

Mix action with glimpses of your characters’ thoughts and emotions. This adds depth and reminds readers why the fight matters.

Describe Injuries Believably

Injuries impact the pace and intensity of a fight. Showing injuries realistically adds tension and makes victories feel hard-won.

Example: “She hissed as pain flared in her side where his blade had grazed her. Her vision blurred, but she forced herself to stand, one hand pressed to the wound.”

Build Up to a Climax

As the fight progresses, increase the stakes and bring tension to a peak. This could be a devastating blow, a risky last-minute decision, or a surprising twist.

Example: “He was backed against the wall, nowhere left to run. She raised her hand, a final spell crackling in her palm, the light casting a fierce glow in her eyes.”

Conclude with a Realistic Aftermath

Show the immediate aftermath of the fight: physical exhaustion, injuries, and the character’s emotional response. If they won, are they triumphant, relieved, or traumatized? If they lost, what happens next?

Fight Scene Prompts (with Magic)

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

As they crept down the dim hallway, the flash of gunfire exploded from behind, forcing them to dive to the ground, bullets ricocheting off the walls around them. She barely had time to pull her weapon, pressing her back to the wall as footsteps drew closer. With a steadying breath, she waited for the right moment, then spun, firing off two rounds that hit their marks with surgical precision. The hall fell silent, the smell of gunpowder hanging in the air.

Electricity crackled around his hands as he stalked toward his opponent, energy building in his fingertips. She mirrored his stance, blue flames licking up her wrists as her gaze narrowed. He made the first move, sending a bolt of lightning in her direction, but she countered with a quick flick of her wrist, sending the flames forward like a living shield. Sparks flew as their magic collided, the force of it rattling the metal beams around them.

He ducked behind the dumpster as gunfire erupted, bullets pinging off the conjured barrier that surrounded him. He gritted his teeth, feeling the strain as his shield flickered with each impact. His opponent advanced, shouting taunts over the noise, but he focused, raising one hand to push the barrier outwards, turning it from defense to offense. With a growl, he flung the shield forward like a battering ram, the force slamming his opponent back against the alley wall.

They ascended into the night sky, wind whipping around them as spells flew between them like streaks of fire. He could barely keep up, dodging her relentless attacks as the city lights twinkled below. Finally, he unleashed a burst of energy from his hands, the force spiraling outward in a shockwave. She managed to deflect it just in time, retaliating with a beam of light that sliced through the night like a comet, forcing him into a desperate mid-air roll to avoid it.

[solxamber]

Going to get my driver's licence and now I'm curious. How bad do you think the twst characters would be behind a car?? Cause idk if they have cars in that world or some magic equivalent, but I'm 90% sure almost none of them now how. Like imagine Lillia behind the wheel. He would either crash the car or get you yo your destination with mild injuries. And I KNOW leona sucks at driving that sonnova gun probs doesn't even have his permit.

good luck soldier, hope you pass first try 🫡

leona is canonically good at driving! his liongarb vignette part 2 has him driving everyone and they say it's a surprisingly smooth ride, he's had his license since before he enrolled in nrc!

ooo let's see (these are my hcs)

How I think the twst boys drive:

Riddle

“If you don’t use your blinker, you deserve a revoked license and public humiliation.”

has a laminated printout of the dmv manual in his glove compartment. refers to it. frequently.

stress-mumbles the rules of the road like it’s a ritual to keep the car from crashing

WILL tailgate someone going under the speed limit while also ranting about how dangerous tailgating is

6/10 driving skills. you’ll get there. your spine might not survive the journey, but you’ll get there.

Trey

drives like a dad and acts like one too. snacks in the glovebox. tunes to an “easy listening” radio station no one asked for

makes full eye contact with you while backing into a parking space like it’s nothing. terrifying.

won’t yell at other drivers but will mutter very passive-aggressive things like “oh, nice turn signal, champ”

actually a good driver, but if you’re in a rush he suddenly forgets where the gas pedal is

9/10. safe, boring, you will arrive calmly unless you say something that triggers “dad lecture mode”

Cater

treats every red light like a selfie opportunity. traffic jam? story time.

“oops lol i forgot i was driving”—said as he casually swerves back into the lane with one hand and no shame

will absolutely blast hyperpop or sad girl music at full volume and sing along

uses gps and still misses every turn. rerouting? he’s rerouting his soul

4/10. looks good while driving but he’s taking you straight to the afterlife

Ace

somehow thinks he’s in mario kart. will try to drift. is bad at drifting.

screams “WE’RE FINEEEE” after hitting the curb for the third time

brakes too late, accelerates too fast, thinks honking is just “assertive communication”

if there’s a speed bump he’s treating it like a ramp. bonus points if he makes you hit your head on the ceiling

2/10. he’s the reason riddle has ulcers. do NOT get in the car if you value your life or bones.

Deuce

follows every rule with military precision. 10 and 2. full stops. checks mirrors like he’s solving a crime

“Yes ma’am, no ma’am, I mean—uh, officer! No officer! I wasn’t speeding I swear—” (he wasn’t. he was 5 under.)

will cry if you scream while he’s merging. please don’t scare the boy.

starts off driving like your grandma, then randomly hits you with a tokyo drift moment and doesn’t explain

7/10. either safest driver alive or full menace. depends on how much sleep he got.

Leona

the infuriatingly competent kind of driver who looks like he’s not paying attention, but then parallel parks in one smooth move without even checking the mirrors

arm out the window, seat leaned back, one hand on the wheel, vibes immaculate

doesn’t drive fast, but drives scarily efficient. like you blink and you’re at the destination

will not turn down the music. you are listening to the same remix loop for 45 minutes and you WILL like it.

9/10 driver. good under pressure, hates driving in the rain, will refuse to pick you up unless you bribe him with snacks or flattery.

Ruggie

terrifyingly resourceful behind the wheel. the kind of guy who’ll be like “oh yeah there’s a shortcut” and you end up on a goat trail with no guardrails

speed demon. not by choice. he just doesn’t believe in arriving late. or braking.

eats while driving. talks while driving. does parkour with the car while driving. you pray while riding.

every time he drives you somewhere, you owe him one. including emotional damage fees.

5/10. you will survive. but spiritually? you left your body three potholes ago.

Jack

rule follower. actual golden retriever on the road. if you litter out the window he will make a U-turn to go back and make you pick it up

will not speed, will not honk unless someone is literally on fire, will not change the radio station unless everyone agrees

but if someone cuts him off? feral instincts engaged.

quietly competitive. if someone passes him, he WILL accelerate. you may hear growling. don’t question it.

8.5/10. safe, solid, dependable. would drive you home from a party and make sure you drank water first.

Azul

thinks driving is a power move. like. he paid extra for that quiet engine start just to flex

fully uses driving time to monologue about business deals, plans, or subtle threats. you’re not sure if you’re carpooling or in a hostage negotiation

signals three miles ahead. checks mirrors like he’s being tailed by the fbi. he might be

very good at navigating. if gps reroutes, he reroutes it back. he wins against the algorithm.

9/10, but unnerving. you’re safe, but at what cost.

Jade

why does he have a license. who allowed this.

drives like he’s setting up a prank for someone ten miles ahead

never speeds, but takes the creepiest, emptiest backroads imaginable. says it’s “more scenic”

always smiling while driving. concerningly calm if something explodes. probably listening to classical music or nature documentaries

6/10. legally fine. emotionally? you’re not coming back the same.

Floyd

no one is shocked he passed the test. everyone is shocked he was legally allowed to take it

drives according to mood. if he’s bored, the car drifts. if he’s happy, he’s swerving in rhythm to the beat. if he’s angry? start writing your will.

makes driving sounds while driving. “vroom vroom~ screeeee~” for no reason

WILL throw fries at other cars. WILL try to high-five a biker at a stoplight. WILL unbuckle his seatbelt to “stretch” mid-drive

3/10. you either have the best day of your life or a near-death experience. possibly both.

Kalim

loudest driver alive. music blaring, windows down, shouting "WHEEEE~!" every time he accelerates

constantly turns around to talk to people in the backseat. like fully turns around. while driving.

forgets he’s not in a flying carpet. every stop sign is an opportunity to launch forward like it’s a joyride

someone told him roundabouts are fun so he goes around twice. just for the vibes.

4/10. he loves driving. driving does not love him back. you’re clutching the oh-shit handle the whole time.

Jamil

the only reason scarabia hasn’t been sued for vehicular crimes

drives like a tired single parent with 4 kids in the back screaming about McDonald's

SPEEDS when no one’s watching. you blink, he’s five miles ahead. shadow clone jutsu behind the wheel.

has memorized every traffic light timer in the city. never hits red. it’s… weird.

9/10. efficient, smooth, and will absolutely sigh dramatically the whole time you’re in the car.

Vil

drives a clean car. spotless. smells like luxury perfume and judgment

interior is curated. no trash. no crumbs. one water bottle and it’s aesthetically pleasing.

signals aggressively. like he flips that blinker with intent

will slow down to give you a Look if you’re in the wrong outfit to be seen with him

8/10. elegant and competent, but if you scuff his interior with your shoes, you’re walking.

Rook

who gave him a license. seriously. who looked at this man and went “yes. let him command a machine.”

sings full operas while driving. makes direct eye contact through the rearview mirror. unsettling.

has taken you on backroads even you didn’t know existed. somehow it was scenic.

talks like he’s narrating a wildlife documentary about the local traffic patterns

???/10. is he a good driver? no one knows. he’s just... driving.

Epel

lives for off-roading. doesn’t matter if he’s in a prius, he’s driving that baby like it’s a monster truck

drives like a 90-year-old when vil’s in the car. drives like he’s in a nascar trial when vil’s not

says “it’s fine, I’ve done this before” and proceeds to take a left turn at 70 mph

threatens to do donuts in the parking lot and then does them.

5/10. he’s trying his best. unfortunately, his best involves sick tricks and zero concern for tire life.

Idia

doesn’t.

has a license “for legal reasons,” but he treats driving like going outside is the final boss battle

owns a tricked-out car he never drives. it has led lights, anime decals, and a built-in gaming console. he uses it as a portable man cave

the one (1) time he did drive, he wore fingerless gloves, anime osts were blasting, and he whispered “initial D style” before forgetting which pedal was the brake

2/10. technically can drive. emotionally should not. you’re safer ubering with floyd.

Ortho

doesn't technically need a license but downloaded the entire dmv handbook into his memory for fun

his “car” is less “vehicle” and more “sentient ai-controlled hovercraft with wifi and snacks”

offers in-flight entertainment. like you’re not even on a plane. he just projects movies on the dashboard

drives at optimal efficiency.

11/10. the future of driving. terrifying and amazing. please stop letting him hack traffic lights though.

Malleus

he has a license. he studied for it. memorized the entire rulebook. aced the written.

the problem is: he drives like he's never seen another car before

goes 25 in a 60 because “it is the safest way to protect my precious cargo” (YOU)

stares at traffic lights like they personally offended him

car is some luxury vintage thing that makes no sense. you have to open the door with a key made of bone or something

3/10. you are deeply loved. and deeply late.

Lilia

drives like he’s lived through every era of vehicular invention. he owned a horse-drawn carriage and a tank

owns a beat-up, pink minivan with a custom wrap and dice in the mirror

speeds. aggressively. will swerve into the drive-thru and order fifty mcnuggets “for the road”

talks with both hands while driving. both. hands.

4/10. unpredictable. fun. chaos incarnate. your insurance company hates him.

Silver

good driver. responsible driver.

...except for the part where he falls asleep at stop signs

you’ll be halfway through a deep conversation and he’ll just nod off with his foot on the brake

car is clean, smells like lavender, and has one (1) emergency granola bar in every compartment

very gentle driver. almost too gentle. like “you didn’t feel the turn because he was spiritually aligned with the wheel” kind of gentle

6.5/10. smooth ride, but someone needs to keep him awake with snacks and playlist bangers.

Sebek

shouldn’t be allowed behind the wheel.

drives like he’s been assigned to escort the royal heir through enemy territory

yells at everyone on the road. pedestrians, squirrels, YOU—no one is safe from his critiques of your seatbelt position

insists on narrating everything. “SIGNALING LEFT. NOW SWITCHING LANES. REMAIN ALERT!”

the gps is set to his own voice. and you can’t turn it off

2/10. the only thing louder than the engine is his righteous fury.

Grim

that’s a cat.

(he tries to drive. he sits on the wheel. honks the horn with his butt. chews the seatbelt. it's a warzone in there.)

this was so fun to do lmao

[prompt-heaven]

the ultimate list of AUs, kinks and tropes to inspire you for kinktober 

some of these are darker in nature since that is fitting for the spooky season. 

AUs

academic / teacher / professor / tutor 

addams family

babysitter / nanny

bartender

biker

bodyguard

bonnie and clyde

bounty hunter

boxer 

camp counselor

circus / carnival

cult 

demon / angel

fairytale retelling

fantasy 

farmer

firefighter

guardian angel 

historical 

hybrid

mafia / mob 

magic 

maid / butler 

mechanic 

modern 

monster / mythology / supernatural

paranormal investigator 

pirate / mermaid

post-apocalyptic

priest

prison

rockstar 

royalty

serial killer

sex worker / porn / camgirl/boy / stripper 

slasher

soulmate

spy / secret agent

steampunk / cyber punk

sugar daddy

tattoo artist 

time travel

treasure hunter 

vampire

werewolf 

wild west

TROPES

a/b/o

against a wall 

age gap

amnesia / memory loss

anonymous sex

balcony sex

boss x employee 

brothers best friend / dad’s best friend (dbf)

car sex

cheating

clothed sex

comforting sex

coworkers to lovers

cursed / fuck or die / sex pollen

dark / soft!dark

enemies to lovers

exes to lovers

fake relationship

forbidden romance

friends to lovers

friends with benefits

game gone wrong

hate sex / make-up sex

huddle for warmth

just the tip

library sex

loss of virginity

mirror sex

neighbours to lovers 

only one bed

opposites attract

period sex

pool / hot tub sex

predator / prey

professor x student

public / semi-public sex

revenge sex

reverse harem

romantic sex

roommates to lovers

rough sex

seduction

sex in an alley

sex in exchange for a favour

sex while camping

shower / bath sex

stalker

stepcest

table sex

unrequited love

yandere

KINKS

aftercare

anal 

begging

being recorded / taking pictures

body worship

dom / sub / bondage / bdsm / shibari

breath play / choking

cheating

cockwarming

corruption kink 

costumes / uniforms

creampie / breeding / forced breeding

cuckolding

cum in panties

cumplay

cunnilingus / face sitting / rimming / blowjob / deep throating / gagging

dacryphillia

dirty talk / voice kink

double penetration / double penetration in one hole 

dry humping / thigh riding 

dubcon / noncon / cnc / drugging

dumbification

exhibitionism / voyeurism

fingering

fisting

flashing 

food play 

footjob 

forced orgasm

formal wear 

free use

glory hole

glove kink 

hand kink

handjob 

hole inspection

humiliation / degradation

hunter / prey

impact play / spanking / whipping / hair pulling / pain kink

jealousy / sharing / possessive

knife kink / gun kink

lingerie / stockings / socks

massage

masturbation / caught masturbating / mutual masturbation

medical kink

monsterfucking / tentacles

multiple orgasms

orgasm denial / overstimulation / edging

threesome / orgy / gangbang

partner swap 

pegging

piercings

pillow humping

praise kink 

premature ejaculation / cuming untouched

pussyjob

roleplay

role reversal

ruined orgasm / cuming without permission

sensory deprivation 

sexting / phone sex 

facial / swallowing / bukakke

size kink / size difference / belly bulge

skirt stays on

somnophilia / getting fucked to sleep

spit kink

squirting

stripping / lap dance

teasing 

temperature play

thigh fucking

throat training

titty fucking

toys / object insertion 

OTHER PROMPTS

a ritual gone wrong 

a string of unexplained deaths

a summer fling gone horrible wrong, or right

alian abduction 

art come to life

basement wife 

being paralysed 

blackmail 

caught trespassing on private property

college party gone wrong

crazy ex

curiosity killed the cat

fate worse than death

final girl

getting stranded in a little town that’s not as wholesome as it seems

ghostface

halloween party

haunted house / abandoned house 

haunted object 

hitch-hiking gone wrong

hot neighbour that has an obsession with you

i was sent here to assassinate you but now i think i might be in love with you

Items moving and/or going missing

i’ll find you in every universe / century

kidnapping

lost in a maze

mad scientist 

magical healing 

marriage / wedding / arranged marriage/ forced marriage 

mind control / telepathy

mirrors playing tricks on the mind

oh, you had a long day? use me as your personal sex toy in order to unwind

oops, i summoned a demon 

oops, i’m dating a serial killer

playing games (like seven minutes in heaven, spin the bottle, hide and seek, etc.) but they have a slutty/dark twist to them

possession (ghost or demon)

power outage

ritual / sacrifice / blood magic

road trip

secret room

serial killers fucking in front of hostages

stalker landlord

stalker wearing the same costume as your partner 

stockholm syndrome

the return of a villain thought dead

torture

toxic frat boy

waking up from strange dreams and seeing bruises and marks on your skin that correspond exactly with the dream you just woke from

we’re the last people on the planet and you will be mine

you wake up strapped to a table just as a fuck machine is turned on

[bitchfitch]

they're like this ya know? Neither of them are the dog that they put with the cheetah to help with it's anxiety. they are both the cheetahs making eachother more anxious in a cycle of maladaption.

Idk I think the reason I get into these long periods of obsession with Esti and Pavo that's never all that productive is that out of all my characters They're the two who are the absolute most obsessed with eachother. And it's fascinating to me even if I can't like. Do anything with it besides holding it up for everyone to look at. Like,

Evi is made up of Evan's dreams, Toivo is every hope Eike ever had spun into an independent person. Monty spent his entire life thinking of himself as simply an extension of Cadfael, Baldric dismembered his lovers to stop them being able to leave him. Grinning and Other are symbiotic gods who can't exist without eachother. Miro and Stellan are literally two halves of the same soul.

But, critically, All of them could go to the supermarket and buy groceries alone without getting near crisis levels of bummed out over being temporarily apart

Esti and Pavo couldn't. They would both have an attack of some sort at least 20 minutes into the trip and make it everyone's problem. Do not seperate them.

[sharkwidow]

Nerf War | Avengers x Teenage reader!

✮⋆˙Summary: War broke out, and you were the culprit.

✮⋆˙Content Warning: Chaos, affection, and lots of foam darts.

✮⋆˙Word Count: 785

✮⋆˙Notes: The Avengers adore you... even if they don't easily admit it.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

Fury left you with them like you were a fragile box.

"Take care of her, she's useful. She's a spy. And yes, she's a teenager, but don't underestimate her."

He said it dryly, but the Avengers understood the subtext. You weren't just useful. You were important. You'd been through things no one should have to go through, and Fury, that grumpy old man with a hidden heart, trusted them to give you something you never had: a family.

And at first... it was weird. Tony called you "ninja girl," Natasha analyzed you like a mirror, Steve offered you food every five minutes, and Clint gave you training arrows. Even Wanda calmly taught you how to use your abilities, as if she wasn't worried about you accidentally melting a cup.

But today... today you weren't a spy. Today you were a bored teenager in a giant tower with superheroes too busy.

So you decided to unleash hell.

Colorful. Foam. Totally harmless.

The best hell.

You snuck through the halls, sliding as only you knew how, until you left a modified Nerf gun in the kitchen. On the table. It was pointed directly at Tony Stark.

"What the...?" he said when he saw it.

A note taped to the side read: "First to shoot wins. Begin!"

Tony looked up just as a foam dart hit him in the forehead.

"Was that you?!" he yelled, running after you.

And so the war began.

Steve showed up five minutes later with a shield converted into a barricade. Natasha had two Nerf guns and terrifying accuracy. Wanda levitated darts with her magic. Clint fired from the rooftop, and Peter Parker came swinging through the window with a backpack full of ammo.

Bruce refused to participate... until a dart hit him in the back. Then, the controlled version of the Hulk launched cushions like grenades.

You were laughing so hard you almost fell down the hallway as you dodged Tony's attacks and hid behind the couch.

"She started it!" Tony yelled, pointing at you.

"And she's going to win!" you screamed, launching a barrage of darts with lethal accuracy.

At some point, Steve tripped over a poorly placed shield, Natasha got caught in a net you'd set up as a trap, and Clint was left hanging from the ceiling light, laughing like a madman.

When Thor returned to the tower from another mission and saw the mess, he simply asked, "Is this a battle? Where's my Nerf hammer?"

And that's when the chaos doubled.

Darts were flying everywhere. Peter was screaming like it was a real war, you were using your training to disappear and attack from the shadows, and Tony was already planning to build an automatic turret to shoot him.

The chaos lasted almost two hours.

Two hours of laughter, screams, pillow fights, and hearts healing without saying a word.

When it was all over, you were on the floor, laughing, with Tony lying next to you, his hair covered in darts, and Wanda using her magic to remove the ones Clint had stuck in his face.

"You're dangerous, kid," Natasha said, sitting next to you.

"Thanks," you replied with a smirk.

Steve tossed you a water bottle.

"Good strategy, agent."

And for a moment, you felt... loved. Not for what you could do. Not for your training or your skills. But simply for being you.

An orphaned teenager who had started a Nerf war so she wouldn't feel alone.

And it had worked.

"Rematch tomorrow?" Peter asked hopefully.

"Get ready, I have better plans," you replied, and everyone laughed. Even Thor.

The Avengers—your Avengers—looked at you as if you were one of them. Because you already were. From the first foam dart.

[gyugraphy]

May I request a Bob Reynolds x Villain!Reader who -despite being a villain and doing villain things- they treat Bob really well,?

Like- if they heard about how Walker treats Bob, they'd already be planning to go after him first or smthng,?? Idek,,, just food for thoughts()

ferra (r.r.)

synopsis : You’re a weapon, feared, used, and long past redemption. The jobs don’t feel like victories anymore, just noise between silences. Then you meet Bob Reynolds. Too quiet, too powerful, and far too familiar. You should have walked away. Instead, you saved him, and now you’re in deeper than you meant to be.

pairing : bob reynolds x reader

content : slight angst, action, villain!reader (?),

warning/s : violence, swearing, mentions of past trauma

word count : 3.5k

A/N: thank you sm for the request! @d3adbr3inc3lls teehee i hope u like this one !!

You weren’t born a weapon.

But metal always loved you more than people did.

You learned that early, maybe too early. When your mother screamed and the bullet bent before it hit her, twisting midair like it had changed its mind. You remember her terrified face more than anything else. Not the blood. Not the man who ran. Just her, backing away from you like you’d grown claws.

You were seven.

That’s how it started.

Your power didn’t manifest gently. There was no warm glow, no magical accident. It wasn’t kind. It was messy and sharp and loud. You were loud. You cried for days afterward, not because you hurt someone—but because no one ever held you again.

By nine, you stopped flinching at sirens.

By eleven, you stopped waiting for help.

By thirteen, you were untraceable. Gone like smoke through every foster file, every underground program that wanted to “train” kids like you. The labs wanted you. The recruiters whispered your name like it was prophecy. The mercenary networks put a price on your head before they even met you.

Not because you were dangerous.

Because you were useful.

You learned quick that the world didn’t care if you were scared. Only if you were strong.

So you became strong.

By sixteen, you stopped caring about names altogether. You didn’t need one when they called you “the Iron Witch,” “the ferromancer,” “the girl with the gods-damned mind-magnet hands.” You didn’t care what they thought, as long as they feared you. Fear was safe. Fear made people back off. Fear paid the bills.

And the bills were always coming.

You’ve twisted steel into chains and walls and coffins. You’ve stopped bullets mid-flight, melted guns into slag while still in their owner’s grip, crushed skulls inside helmets without lifting a finger. You’ve dropped tanks from the sky. You’ve walked through warzones and left no survivors. You’ve been paid in gold, blood, and silence.

Because someone asked you to.

And that’s the thing about power. Once people know you have it, they stop asking if you want anything else.

No one ever asked what you wanted.

Not peace. Not forgiveness.

Certainly not love.

For a while, you thought you didn’t want anything else. You made a home out of silence. Built your bones out of iron and called it evolution. You convinced yourself that this—this mercenary, steel-skinned, blood-washed life—was freedom.

But freedom starts to rot when it’s just isolation in a prettier cage.

Then came the nights where even metal couldn’t drown out the silence. The weight of your own armor started to feel like a coffin. The kills got too easy. The jobs got too clean. You stopped sleeping well. Stopped laughing. Stopped pretending you liked the person you saw in the mirror. All you saw were sharp edges. All you heard was the sound of your own breath and the hum of weaponized walls.

You started to wonder if you’d always feel this alone.

And now?

Now you’re standing in a half-collapsed weapons facility in the Balkans, chasing something that might be worse than all the other jobs you’ve done put together. A “graviton pulse stabilizer” with phase-bending capabilities—something the wrong buyer could use to rewrite physics. To erase the laws of reality like a chalkboard. You don’t even want it. You told yourself you took the job because it was dangerous, and because if you didn’t get there first, someone worse would.

That’s the excuse you gave yourself.

But really?

You came because the Thunderbolts were coming too.

Because he was coming.

You wanted to see what second chances looked like.

You wanted to see him.

Bob Reynolds. The golden boy turned nuclear ghost. You’d read about him. Watched the footage.Somehow both the strongest and the most unstable of the bunch. You heard the whispers. The rumors. The fear that trembled behind closed doors.

He wasn’t what they called him.

Not just “The Void.” Not just a bomb in human skin.

No. You’d seen his file.

You saw the way he disappeared from fights more than he started them. The way he volunteered for backline duty, always carrying what the others needed. The way he stood slightly behind the rest, as if afraid of taking up space. The way he looked down in every surveillance clip, like the camera might flay him open if he met its gaze.

Someone like that… you understood.

Power that big didn’t come without breaking something first.

You wonder what broke in him. And whether it was the same thing that broke in you.

You move silently through the rusted remains of the upper floor, your boots gliding over warped steel catwalks. The old facility breathes around you—metal pipes groaning, floor beams shifting beneath the weight of history. The air is heavy with the scent of damp concrete, rust, and something darker beneath it—gunpowder, old smoke, dried blood trapped in stone.

Your fingers ghost along the wall. The pipes hum beneath your skin. There’s iron in the paint, copper in the wire, fragments of old blood in the dust. It listens when you touch it. The whole building does. The girders shiver at your passing. The screws twist a little looser, as if happy to see you.

This broken, half-dead ruin of a war machine. And for now, you’re the only god it worships.

But you didn’t come to rule, you came to watch.

You came to find the one man who might understand what it feels like to be a weapon no one asked to make.

You came to see if there’s still something in this world that doesn’t turn to steel when you reach for it.

And if there isn’t?

Then at least you’ll know.

Far below, across the fractured ribcage of the facility, something shifts.

Not the team. You’d recognize their weight—too heavy, too clumsy, too loud in the way soldiers always are. This is something else. Quieter. Hesitant.

You pause at the edge of a collapsed stairwell and feel the breath of metal shift through your lungs. It tells you before your eyes do.

He’s close.

Bob doesn’t hear her at first.

He feels her.

The echo of something magnetic. Not literal magnetism—he’s immune to that. But something more primal, like a thread tugging at the corners of his awareness. His skin prickles beneath the sleeves of his black tactical shirt, the borrowed Thunderbolts insignia feeling suddenly too snug across his shoulder blades. The weight of the portable containment unit slung across his back should ground him, but it doesn’t.

Something’s off.

He’s not one to say that aloud—he’s already the weird one, the twitchy one, the backliner with a temperamental nuclear god curled up in his ribcage—but he knows what it means when his instincts twist like this.

He’s being watched.

He adjusts the strap on his shoulder and slows his steps. His boots scuff against the concrete, careful and measured. The corridors here are tight, long-abandoned, gutted of anything valuable decades ago. Walls of peeling paint, corroded metal, broken signage in Cyrillic. The lights on his suit flicker faint blue against rust and shadow.

He doesn’t call for the others.

If something’s waiting for him, it’s not for them.

He rounds the corner. And there she is.

Propped casually against the metal frame of a broken doorway, arms crossed, a lazy smirk blooming like a bruise across her mouth.

She’s not dressed like the mercs they were briefed on. No heavy gear, no visible weapons. Just combat boots scuffed silver at the soles, black utility pants cinched with magnetic buckles, and a dark fitted jacket with plates of reinforced alloy glinting faintly beneath the fabric. She looks like she built her own armor and made it look good doing it.

Her eyes are lit with something half-feral, half-amused.

“Hey, cutie,” she says, voice silk-wrapped iron. “Bob, isn’t it?”

His mouth opens. Closes.

He blinks like a man short-circuiting.

“You have something I want.”

The containment unit on his back suddenly feels very, very heavy.

He shifts slightly, posture tightening. “We can’t just give it to you.”

“I figured you’d say that.” She shrugs, lazy and unbothered, like she’s got all the time in the world to toy with him. “But I thought it’d be polite to ask first. You seemed like the polite one.”

“How do you know who I am?” he asks, quiet but direct.

She grins wider. “Oh, Bob. You don’t know how many people watch you. Most of them are scared.” Her gaze rakes him—slow, analytical, amused. “I’m just… curious.”

He swallows hard. The hallway is too narrow. The air too thick. And her presence is loud without raising her voice—metal curls toward her like ivy to sunlight. The rusted screws in the wall vibrate when she shifts her weight. Even the broken pipes seem to listen.

Then—

“Bob?” Yelena’s voice cracks through his comm. Distant, somewhere on the west wing. “Do you copy? Got movement near Sector C.”

His head turns slightly, just for a second. But when he looks back—

She’s gone.

Just a faint vibration in the walls. A memory left in the air.

He breathes out slowly.

And for some reason, it almost feels like disappointment.

Bob stands frozen, his chest heaving slightly, still staring at the empty space where she stood a second ago. His ears ring from the silence she left behind, sharper than any explosion. Then the comms crackle again—Yelena’s voice cutting in, crisp and impatient.

“Bob? You’re lagging. Talk to me.”

He forces a breath out, fingers tapping his earpiece.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“You sound weird.”

He hesitates, gaze still searching the shadows.

“Just… thought I saw someone.”

There’s a pause on the line. Then, with the unmistakable smirk in her tone:

“Was she hot?”

He doesn’t reply. Because yes. She was. But it wasn’t just that.

She felt like an unfinished sentence—both unsettling and magnetic. Something about her clung to the edges of his thoughts, even after she’d slipped back into the dark like she’d never been.

He breathes out through his nose, tension tightening between his shoulders.

That’s when the first shot cracks through the air.

Far off at first. Then closer.

It’s followed by another. And another—until the air is vibrating with it. A shuddering percussion of automatic gunfire rattling through the steel skeleton of the building.

“Contact! Third floor west—twelve targets, at least!” Ava’s voice bursts through the comms, loud over the staccato gunfire. “Unknown affiliation. They’re not on our list.”

“Copy that.” Bucky, already moving.

Bob spins toward the source of the noise, his boots scuffing over cracked concrete. His grip tightens on the sleek black pack strapped to his chest—the one carrying the weapon they were sent to retrieve. He can feel it pulsing faintly beneath the reinforced layers, like something alive is trying to wake up.

The hallway stretches ahead in ruin, flickering lights casting erratic shadows across warped steel beams. Dust filters down like ash from the upper levels, stirred by the footfalls of something heavy. Bob breaks into a run, rounding the corner—

And freezes.

Dozens of them.

They move like a hive— dark armored figures flooding into the space from a breached service door, their weapons raised. No symbols. No identifiers. No hesitation. They aren’t part of any team he’s briefed on. These guys don’t want the weapon for a mission, they want it for power.

Bucky is already engaged, trading blows with two attackers. Ava blinks in and out of visibility, phasing through solid walls and reappearing behind enemies with knives drawn. Yelena throws a flashbomb that sends sparks scattering. Alexei grabs a man by the torso and slams him into the ceiling like he’s swatting a fly.

Bob ducks behind a crumbling pillar, heart pounding, trying not to crush the pack as stray bullets ricochet dangerously close.

Another burst of gunfire—closer now—sends debris raining over his head. He risks a glance toward Ava, just in time to see a sniper lining her up in their sights.

And then the bullet stops.

Not misses.

Stops.

Frozen in midair like it hit a wall made of thought.

Time doesn’t stop. But for a moment, the air feels thick with static—every sound distorted, every motion just a fraction too slow. Bob’s eyes snap to the origin.

And there she is again. Unannounced. Unbothered.

Standing in the chaos like she belongs to it.

The bullets hover around her like planets orbiting a sun. She doesn’t even flinch. Her hand is raised lazily, her fingers poised like she’s playing a piano only she can hear. Her coat—black leather, long and battle-worn—flares around her knees. Dust settles in her hair like a crown.

She turns her wrist. The bullets drop.

One by one. A clattering rainfall of lead hitting the floor.

Bob stares. Not just at what she can do, but at the way she chooses to do it.

She stopped them.

She didn’t retaliate. Didn’t redirect. Just… stopped it all.

“She’s not with them!” Bob shouts, rising from cover. His voice is loud, cutting through the gunfire—but whether the others hear him or not, they’re too deep into the fight to pause.

Walker’s already mid-charge. His shield slices the air in a clean arc, sailing toward her like a buzzsaw.

She doesn’t move.

She doesn’t need to.

The shield twists midflight—snatched from its path and slammed down at her feet with a sharp clatter, controlled like it never belonged to him in the first place.

She doesn’t speak.

But her expression shifts—irritation blooming across her face like a storm cloud.

Her eyes flick to Bob.

Walker doesn’t back down. He lunges again, faster this time, less thinking, more brute force.

And that’s when she lifts her hand, just two fingers, and the metal beneath Walker’s boots rises.

A spike of iron twists out of the floor like a fang. It slices through his tactical vest and cuts a shallow line across his ribs, stopping just short of real damage.

He stumbles back, wide-eyed.

“Enough!” Bob’s voice breaks through again. He pushes forward, hand out, trying to reach her before this gets worse.

She doesn’t raise another weapon. Doesn’t retreat.

She turns to face him fully for the first time.

And in that moment, Bob sees the truth that the rest of the team is missing.

The set of her shoulders. The control in her stance. The restraint on her face.

She’s helping them.

She’s choosing not to kill them.

Before he can say anything else, the wall behind her explodes—mercs breaching from the south wing. Three of them, armed with heavy artillery, firing wildly.

She doesn’t flinch.

Instead, she yanks an entire sheet of ceiling metal down with a sweep of her arm, twisting it into a makeshift shield that curves around Bob, Yelena, and Ava before the bullets can make contact.

The noise is deafening. Rounds hitting steel like a drumline.

And she holds it.

One hand. Breathing steady. Eyes locked on Bob the entire time.l

He watches the metal glow faintly red from the heat of impact, then cool beneath her control. When the storm dies down, she lets it fall with a thunderous slam.

She’s covered in dust now. Smudges of soot on her jaw, blood on her sleeve—someone else’s, he thinks.

She takes a single step forward.

Bob does too.

Then Walker, furious, yells from behind them, “She’s right here and you let her go? What the hell do you even do, Reynolds?!”

And before Bob can answer—before he can even breathe—

The shield twitches.

Lifts.

Spins in the air like it remembers who really listens to metal.

And flies straight back at Walker.

But it stops—midair—hovering just an inch from his sternum.

Held there by invisible strings.

She’s glaring now, shoulders tight, mouth hard with fury.

“You want to try that again, asshole?” she snaps.

Bob doesn’t think. He moves—crossing the few feet between them and grabbing her wrist before she can hurl the shield with lethal force.

Her pulse thrums under his hand.

Her gaze flicks to his.

And just like that—the metal drops.

The air stills.

And in that space between violence and choice, something clicks.

They’re the same kind of dangerous, but maybe not to each other.

The moment her fingers leave the edge of Bob’s wrist, she’s moving again.

No words. No thanks. Just a flick of her eyes toward the scattered remains of the facility and the sharp metallic whine of something rising.

Bob whirls around just in time to see the security vault breach open—twisted apart like a peeled tin can. The weapon they were sent to retrieve, the one tucked behind five layers of biometric locks and reinforced alloys, floats to her open hand.

It’s not what he expected.

No glowing core, no sleek casing. It looks almost ancient—cylindrical, faintly humming, etched with equations even he can’t parse in the second he glimpses it. Like it doesn’t belong in any timeline.

“Wait—!” Bob starts.

But she’s already backing away, the weapon cradled against her hip like it was always meant for her. She gives him a look—equal parts regret and something warmer, softer, like she had considered staying.

Then she vanishes.

Metal peels back from the ceiling above her, forming a narrow escape tunnel. She rises with it—her shadow trailing like smoke—until the darkness swallows her whole.

This time, she doesn’t leave a bullet behind to stop.

Two hours later. Thunderbolts debrief room.

Val paces in front of the team like a drill sergeant with a caffeine addiction, tablet in one hand and sarcasm in the other.

“So let me get this straight,” she begins, boots clicking sharply across the metal floor. “You all fought off an unknown mercenary group, nearly died, and then let some goth scrapheap Barbie steal the very weapon we were sent to secure?”

Yelena slouches in her seat. “Technically, she helped.”

“She robbed us.”

“She saved us, then robbed us,” Ava offers flatly. “Important difference.”

Alexei grunts. “She was… very fast.”

John scoffs, arms crossed. “She made me bleed.”

“Good. You’re overdue.” Yelena doesn’t even look at him.

Val pinches the bridge of her nose. “You guys are unbelievable.”

Her eyes dart to Bob. He’s seated at the far end, hands folded too neatly, staring at the dark smear of dried blood on his boot like it’s got answers.

“And you,” Val barks. “Our backpack boy. The hell were you doing while she made off with the prize?"

Bob looks up. Quiet. “Trying not to get anyone killed.”

“Oh, well, round of applause,” she snaps. “Maybe next time you try a little harder not to help the enemy.”

“She’s not the enemy,” Bob says without thinking.

Val freezes. “Oh no?”

“She didn’t shoot us. She stopped them from killing us. She had our backs.”

“She had our weapon.”

Val’s voice rises. “For all we know, she’s going to sell it to the highest bidder or crack open a wormhole in her living room. We don’t know anything about her—”

A door hisses open behind them.

They all turn as a figure steps through the threshold, calm as a gunshot in the dark.

Long coat. One eye.

Nick Fury.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just strolls in, takes in the chaos, and raises a brow.

Val gestures wildly toward the screens behind her, which are replaying grainy footage of you stopping bullets mid-air and folding a blast door like paper. “Do you know what this is? Who the hell helped who out there?!”

Fury doesn’t flinch. He steps forward, tilts his chin at the paused screen.

“We call the subject: Ferra,” he says evenly. “Real name: unknown. Age: estimated early twenties. First surfaced in Moscow when she was around thirteen, leveling a black market tech ring in under five minutes. SHIELD’s been tracking her ever since.”

Yelena blinks. “You mean you knew she existed this whole time?”

Fury nods. “She’s a ghost with a kill record that puts most of your dossiers to shame. She doesn’t work for anyone. She doesn’t like anyone. Which means if she showed up, it wasn’t for the money.”

Bob straightens. “Then why?”

Fury glances at him. There’s something unreadable in his expression.

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

Val sighs, dragging a hand down her face. “You’re telling me SHIELD’s Most Wanted just walked into our mission, saved your asses, stole the target, and now we’re just—what—gonna go look for her like a goddamn scavenger hunt?”

Fury just turns to the team, hands behind his back.

“Next mission’s simple. You find her. You figure out what she wants. And if there’s even a chance she’s planning to use that thing—”

He meets Bob’s eyes again.

“—you stop her.”

Silence settles again.

Bob exhales slowly.

And for the first time since she vanished, something flickers behind his sternum.

She didn’t hurt them. She chose not to.

And whatever came next…

He wasn’t going to let her face it alone.

A/N : first request! :>>> lmk what u think!

A/N 2 : not proofread yet ik im sorry

[hyuniemyunie]

Jason todd x gn reader˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

doing his makeup!<3

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): hes sooooo wifey i love him sm

THIS IS FOR EVERYNYAN. MEN WITH MAKEUP. WOMEN WITH MAKEUP. NONBINARY PPL WITH MAKEUP.

men who do makeup..r..like. so hot. sorry..not sorry..

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

Jason Todd was many things—an ex-Robin, a vigilante, a walking, talking trauma case—but a guy who let someone put makeup on him? That was where he drew the line.

At least, he had drawn the line. But you had this look in your eyes, that mischievous little sparkle that made it real hard to say no.

“Come on,” you pleaded, holding up a fluffy makeup brush like it was a weapon of mass persuasion. “Just let me do a little bit.”

Jason crossed his arms. “I’m not gonna look like a clown, am I?”

you gasped, placing a hand over your heart in fake offense. “How dare you. I would never make you look bad.”

He squinted at you. “Uh-huh.”

You scooted closer, eyes shining. “Please?”

Jason sighed, already feeling himself caving. “Fine. But if I look ridiculous, I’m making you watch all my shitty old Westerns shows with me.”

You grinned. “Deal.”

And that was how Jason Todd, Gotham’s brooding menace, ended up sitting on the edge of the bed while you happily went to work on his face.

At first, he felt stupid. you started with some primer and foundation, muttering about “undertones” and “coverage” while he sat there like an idiot. Then came the contouring—something about sharpening his cheekbones, which he thought was unnecessary because his cheekbones were already sharp enough to cut glass.

Then you moved to his eyes.

“This is where the magic happens,” you declared, pulling out an eyeshadow palette.

Jason groaned. “I swear to God, if you give me rainbow clown eyes—”

“Shhh,” you hushed him, dusting warm brown and reddish shades onto his lids.

Jason stayed quiet after that, mostly because the feeling of the brush against his skin was oddly relaxing. You blended, added a bit of shimmer at the inner corners, then pulled out the eyeliner.

“Keep still,” you warned.

Jason tried to keep still, but the moment you got close to his eye with that little black pen, his survival instincts kicked in.

You huffed. “You stare down thugs with guns on a nightly basis, but this is where you flinch?”

“It’s a reflex,” Jason grumbled.

you rolled your eyes and cupped his jaw, gently tilting his face. “Look up.”

He did. And maybe—just maybe—he liked the way you were touching him, all soft and careful like he was something delicate.

Once you finished the eyeliner, you moved to mascara. Jason blinked too hard the first time, getting some on his eyelid. You scolded him, wiped it off, and tried again.

Then came the final touch—the lips.

Jason narrowed his eyes as you picked up a tube of lipstick. “No bright red,” he warned.

You rolled your eyes. “I know. Trust me.”

You picked a deep, natural shade and carefully applied it, your thumb tilting his chin to keep him still. When you pulled back, you studied him, eyes wide with satisfaction.

“…Holy shit,” you muttered.

Jason frowned. “What?”

“You look really good.”

Jason snorted. “You’re supposed to say that. You did the makeup.”

“No, but like—really good.” You grabbed your phone and flipped the camera so he could see.

Jason expected to look ridiculous.

Instead…

Oh.

The guy in the reflection wasn’t some overgrown crime alley stray. His skin looked flawless, his cheekbones more defined, his blue eyes sharp. The eyeliner made them pop, the mascara darkened his lashes just enough, and the lip color—damn.

He turned his head slightly, raising a brow. He looked—

“…I look hot,” Jason muttered, genuinely surprised.

You burst out laughing. “I told you!”

Jason kept staring at himself, tilting his head like he was studying a piece of art. “…I look like I could scam rich men out of their fortunes.”

You snorted. “You totally could.”

Jason leaned closer to the mirror. “This is bullshit. Why does this work?”

You smirked, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Because, babe, I’m the one who did it.”

Jason gave you a sideways glance. “…So you’re saying if I let you do this every time, I could be the prettiest crime-fighting menace in Gotham?”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

Jason hummed. “Huh.”

He turned back to the mirror, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

“…So how do I take selfies?”

Jason stared at his reflection, turning his face slightly to the side, then back. His sharp jawline looked even sharper under the contour, the dark eyeliner made his blue eyes pop like something out of a painting, and the lip color—deep, natural, and just glossy enough—gave him a dangerous kind of charm.

You watched him with barely contained laughter, chin resting on his shoulder. Oh, he was eating this up.

“So,” you drawled, watching his expression shift between admiration and disbelief. “What do you think?”

Jason exhaled through his nose, tilting his head again like he was analyzing a priceless artifact.

“…I look like I scam rich men for a living,” he muttered.

You grinned. “And you’d be good at it.”

Jason let out a soft, amused scoff, still not looking away from the mirror. You could see the way his brain was working—turning over the fact that he, Jason Todd, could be pretty in a way he hadn’t really considered before.

His fingers brushed over his jaw. “This is bullshit.”

You snorted. “What’s bullshit? That I made you look hot?”

“That it works,” he grumbled, squinting at himself like the makeup had personally betrayed him. “I mean, I expected to look like some try-hard clown, not—” He gestured vaguely at his face. “—whatever this is.”

“A masterpiece?” you supplied helpfully.

Jason shot you a look, but there was no real bite to it. He was too busy admiring his reflection.

You grabbed your phone and flipped the camera, holding it up. “Wanna take some selfies?”

Jason hesitated. His instinct was probably to say no, but you could see the little flicker of consideration in his eyes.

“…If you send them to Dick, I’ll throw your phone off a building.”

“Duh,” you said, like that should’ve been obvious. “These are for us. For documentation. For history. For—”

Jason rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile.

“…Fine.”

You gasped dramatically. “Did the Jason Todd just agree to take selfies?”

“Shut up and take the damn picture.”

You beamed and held the phone up, making sure the lighting was just right before snapping a couple of shots. Jason barely even tried to pose, but he didn’t need to—his natural sharpness, the way he glanced sideways at the camera with that slight, lazy smirk, made him look effortlessly cool.

After a few shots, you checked the photos, grinning. “Okay, but you actually look so good.”

Jason leaned over, eyes scanning the images. His expression softened for just a second before he covered it up with faux nonchalance. “Yeah, yeah. You’re just saying that ‘cause you did the makeup.”

“No,” you said seriously, nudging his arm. “I mean it. You’re gorgeous, Jay.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard. He cleared his throat, looking away like you hadn’t just turned him into putty with one sentence. “…You’re so full of shit.”

You just grinned.

“Alright,” Jason sighed, stretching his arms above his head. “Time to wash this off before I start getting ideas.”

You gasped. “What kind of ideas?”

Jason smirked, standing up and flexing dramatically. “I dunno. Maybe I should start conning rich old ladies.”

“Oh my god.”

“I could be Gotham’s prettiest crime lord. Make Bruce’s life a living hell.”

You laughed, standing up with him. “I knew this would go to your head.”

Jason slung an arm around your shoulder, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Your fault, babe.”

And yeah—maybe it was your fault. But looking at Jason now, with his newfound appreciation for just how good he could look, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

Jason wasn’t one to fuss over things like makeup. Sure, it had turned out better than expected—hell, he’d even admit (to you, and only you) that he looked good—but after a few selfies and some teasing, he was ready to wash it off and go back to his usual, rugged, Gotham-worn self.

At least, that was the plan.

You, however, had different ideas.

Jason stood in front of the bathroom mirror, rolling up his sleeves as he turned the sink on. His reflection stared back at him—still sharp-jawed, still intense-eyed, but softened just a bit by the expertly blended makeup you’d applied. He reached for a towel when, suddenly—

SMOOCH.

A pair of lips landed on his cheek, warm and deliberate.

Jason froze. “What are you—”

SMOOCH. Another one, this time dangerously close to his jaw.

“Babe—”

SMOOCH. SMOOCH. SMOOCH.

He turned just in time for you to attack with another kiss, smacking your lips dramatically against his face. Jason stumbled back against the sink, hands bracing himself as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to keep him in place.

“Alright, alright!” he laughed, hands coming up to ward you off. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

You grinned up at him, smug as hell. “Just appreciating my work before it all goes to waste.”

Jason gave you a suspicious look, but when he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand—his eyes widened.

A bright red lipstick stain smeared across his knuckles.

He turned back to the mirror.

Oh, shit.

There were marks everywhere. Little red imprints covered his cheeks, his jawline, his nose, and—he rubbed his lips together, realizing you’d definitely gotten him there too. His mouth was slightly smudged, like he’d either been thoroughly kissed or had just finished robbing a bank with Harley Quinn.

Jason looked back at you, you looked way too pleased with yourself.

“Are you serious?” Jason groaned, rubbing at his face. The lipstick refused to budge.

“Very.” You crossed your arms, proud of your masterpiece. “I think it suits you.”

Jason ran a hand down his face. “I look like I got mauled by a very aggressive valentine.”

“You look loved,” you corrected sweetly, batting your lashes.

Jason exhaled through his nose, staring at you like he was this close to enacting revenge. Then, with zero warning, he grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you up onto the bathroom counter.

“Jay—”

You barely had time to react before he pressed his face all over yours—cheeks, nose, forehead, even down to your neck—rubbing against you like a damn cat.

You squealed, trying to push him off. “Jason, no—!”

“What?” he murmured, voice smug and low against your ear. “You don’t wanna match?”

You huffed, knowing damn well he was transferring all those lipstick marks onto your face. When he finally pulled back, he took a second to admire his work.

You glared at him. “You’re an ass.”

Jason smirked, running his thumb over your now-stained cheek. “You love me.”

You tried to look annoyed, but the way he was looking at you—smug, sure, but with that soft glint in his blue eyes—made it impossible to stay mad.

You sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah.”

Jason chuckled, leaning down to press a much gentler, slower kiss to your lips. This time, neither of you cared about the mess.

[vbecker10]

Hiii I was thinking an angst thing about loki accidentally hurting reader with his magic? Or something similar? Have a good day!!

Please Forgive Me

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: As an analyst, you're not even supposed to go on missions but when Fury & Steve decide you are needed in the field, Loki accidently volunteers to train you. Despite your best efforts, your crush on the God of Mischief grows and when he finally tells you that you're ready to go with the team, you're filled with nervous excitement. Loki makes you promise you'll stay close to him but his desire to protect you from danger leads to you being injured by his magic.

A/N: Thank you so much for sending in this request! I love a good angst fic! Sorry it took so long for me to write it. It also got away from me a little (a whole lot actually) and I made it about three times as long as I meant to. I hope you like it! 💚

"Congratulations captain, this might be the most absurd plan you have ever come up with," Loki says with an eye roll as he leans back in his chair across from you.

You feel yourself shrinking, trying to be invisible as you sit between Natasha and Clint. Your eyes focus on your open laptop. The notes you had been taking stop mid sentence, leaving off exactly where Captain Rogers announced you were expected to join the team on the next mission. There's no way I should be doing this. I honestly don't think I've ever heard a worse idea in my entire life. I know it and so does the God of Mischief, you keep your anxious thoughts to yourself.

"None of us can access the computers as quickly as Y/N can. And that's not the only issue, one misstep and all the data on those hard drives will be wiped, we can't risk that," Natasha explains calmly.

"Nat's right, we can't complete this mission without Y/N," Clint says, the conversation continues as if you're not in the room and you wish you weren't. "Normally we could just mirror the drives or physically remove them but we can't, they need to be accessed on site."

You bite your lip, trying to find a flaw in their assessment of the situation but you can't find any. This is what I get for being SHIELD's top expert in Hydra's overly complicated computer system. I thought it was a good thing when I figured out how to extract files without triggering their firewalls but it seems like it's working against me now, you think. I guess my boss was right, I really should have gotten around to teaching other analysts to do this too because now they're going to send me to a freaking Hydra base in the middle of nowhere. You sink further down in your chair and debate escaping from the conference room, your eyes drifting towards the door. There's no way I'd make it anyways, every single person in here is faster than I am, you give up on that idea quickly.

"What's your plan then?" Steve asks Loki, folding his arms across his chest.

Your attention is now completely focused on Loki, curious to hear if he actually has a plan but he's still staring down Steve. The Asgardian doesn't look in your direction once, almost at if he doesn't realize your sitting directly across from him. "My plan remains the same, leave her here so she doesn't get herself killed," Loki says and you're quick to note that there's no concern in his tone.

He's not worried for my safety, he's simply stating a fact. I've never been in the field before, never held a gun, never learned to fight and why would I need to? I spend my days as far away from danger as possible, tucked behind a desk in my office on the 73rd floor, you think.

"She won't get killed," Steve says matter of factly but you're not sure you believe him anymore than the god does.

"And you can guarantee her safety?" Loki asks again without even a hint of worry. "You cannot simply send a civilian into an active Hydra base and assume they will not be injured or worse. She needs training-"

His words are cut off suddenly by director Fury who is sitting at the opposite end of the oval table. "That's an excellent idea your highness," he says with a sarcastic tone that makes you nervous and Loki wary.

"What is?" the younger Asgardian furrows his brow and looks at the director. You sit up straighter in your seat, unsure if Fury is on your side or not.

"You're right, Y/N needs field training," he says and you look from Fury back to Loki quickly as your eyes widen when you realize what he means. "You have one month to get her ready, we can postpone the mission until then."

"Wait!" Loki stands in response, ready to argue. "That is not what I was suggesting-"

"This sounds exactly like what you were insisting on," Thor smiles as he stands from his seat next to Loki, patting his younger brother on the back.

"I was not offering to do it myself," Loki argues, pulling away from his touch.

"I think you were," Natasha smirks.

"No, this is absurd," Loki groans. "I do not have time for this mortal-"

"Then make time," Fury says in a tone that leaves the god no room for further arguing.

Loki sighs deeply in defeat as he sits back down, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes drop to his coffee mug. After a brief moment of silence, he lifts his head and looks directly at you for the first time since the meeting began. "Seven o'clock in the East training room tomorrow morning," he states. You nod and he adds sternly, "Do not be late Y/L/N."

(The next morning - evaluation day)

You walk quickly down the hall towards the training room Loki reserved for you this morning having no idea what to expect. You're almost ten minutes early but you could barely sleep and you're terrified of how Loki might react if you are even a few minutes late. Pushing open the heavy metal door, you pause when you see Loki leaning against a nearby wall reading a thick leather bound book.

"Oh, good morning," you say. You didn't think he'd already be here and you attempt to sound cheerful and not overwhelmingly nervous.

The prince looks at you silently, checks his watch then nods seemingly in approval of your timing. The book vanishes into a haze of green mist and he takes a step towards you. "It's good to see you can tell time at the very least Y/L/N," Loki says.

"Y/N is fine," you tell him, trying to ignore what might be the closest thing to a compliment you get from him today.

He looks at you for a moment and you can't read his reaction to you at all. Today is going to be the longest day of my life, you think as you follow him to the center of the empty room.

"Wow," you mumble, you've never seen the training rooms before but you heard they held some of the most impressive technology in the Tower. The large space is covered in what appears to be simple white tiles, the floor, the walls and even the ceiling. The holograms created by the computer program can mimic any setting or environment, even weather conditions. Your eyes travel up to the high ceiling and you bump into Loki after not realizing he stopped walking.

He lets out a deep sigh in annoyance and you apologize, "I'm sorry."

"After you complete the simulations today, I will determine how many times a week we will need to meet and how long the training sessions will be," he says without acknowledging your apology.

You bite your lip anxiously, "So today is a test?"

"Yes, I need to evaluate your current abilities," Loki confirms.

"In that case, I have a really bad feeling we're going to be spending a lot of time together," you mumble when he walks towards the door leading to a side room for observation.

"As do I Y/L/N," he agrees even though you thought he was too far away to hear you. The God of Mischief goes into the observation room and you watch him through the glass that separates you. He takes a seat at the desk and turns on the computers, the lights around you dimming slowly.

"Hey, before we start I just wanted to say thanks," you say and Loki lifts his head, looking at you through the window. "I know you didn't really volunteer but you were the only one who seemed... concerned," you know that's not the right word but it's all you can think of at the moment, "about me going on the mission."

"The super soldier sometimes forgets how weak humans truly are," Loki responds, his voice coming through the speakers into the room.

"Yeah... well," you shrug. "Thanks anyway, I don't actually want to die out there," you laugh awkwardly.

Loki's quiet and you sigh, not expecting him to respond but after a few seconds he says, "You are welcome Y/N."

You smile, hoping the fact that he called you by your first name means he might be warming up to you just a tiny bit. Only a second later, the lights go out completely, your heart suddenly racing as you realize the evaluation has started and you have no idea what's going to happen.

(One month later)

You duck low as a series of bullets fly towards you, hitting the car you're using as cover. Swearing under your breath, you sit up, pressing your back against the car then stand as you turn, returning fire. Each bullet hits it's mark, taking out all three Hydra soldiers and clearing your path. You stay low, your eyes scanning the debris that litters the street as you make your way quickly around the bullet riddled car. You spot another soldier just as he steps out from behind an overturned bus. You fire first, taking him out easily then you run towards the brick building across the street and head through the open door.

As soon as you step over the threshold you squint, shielding your eyes with your hand as everything around you becomes almost blindingly white. The sounds of the harsh wind and distant sirens vanish as suddenly as the unpleasant smells of smoke and blood. You lower your hand, smiling as the training program is fully turned off and Loki walks towards you.

"So... how did I do?" you ask, hopeful as always to have his approval after a training session.

"Very well, darling," Loki smiles warmly at you.

You can't help but blush at the pet name he started using just a few days ago. The first time the annoyingly handsome God called you darling wasn't even in the training room. You were sure you misheard him say 'have a good evening darling' when you stopped by his office briefly with a question but he continued to use the pet name each time he saw you after that.

"I have good news," he tells you while he follows you to get your water. "I think you are officially ready to join the team on the mission."

You take a long drink of water then look at him stunned. "Really?" you ask excitedly.

"You passed every assessment I have thrown at you for the last week," he confirms with a proud smile. "I am no longer worried you will get yourself killed," he laughs a little.

You smile wide, "You know what that means right?"

He sighs deeply. "You truly mean to hold me to that?" he asks, sounding annoyed by the bet you insisted on two weeks ago but you know him better than that, or at least you hope you do.

"Aww don't pretend like you're not super happy about this," you laugh and hold your arms out wide. "You agreed, if I passed your silly little evaluation I got a hug."

"It is not silly," Loki says and you continue to smile at him, your arms still open. "Fine," he caves as he walks up to you, "but this stays between us."

You can barely contain your excitement when he steps close to you and accepts your hug. You had brought up the deal as a joke after watching Loki's pained reaction to Thor trying to give him a hug. You never honestly expected Loki to agree to it and you definitely didn't think he'd actually follow through with it. Now that the moment is finally here, you really don't want him to let go any time soon because you know you might never get another hug.

"This is nice," you tell him, resting your head on his chest as his arms close comfortably around you.

He doesn't respond but you can tell by the way he breaths deeply that he doesn't hate this type of affection as much as he claims to. After much longer than you expected, Loki finally clears his throat and let's go of you. "That is enough of that," he steps away from you, his eyes lowered as he smooths the nonexistent wrinkles from his black dress shirt. You watch him closely and when he looks up, you can see the smile he's fighting to hide.

"When do you think the mission will be?" you decide not to tell Loki that hug was better than you had imagined.

"I will let Fury and Rogers know you are ready at our afternoon briefing," he says. "We could be sent out as early as tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" you ask, your nerves creeping in suddenly. Surviving the training was one thing but actually going on a mission is still a scary thought.

"You will be fine darling," Loki reassures you. "I would never tell the director you were ready if you were not."

"Cause you're worried about me dying," you tease, both of you knowing Loki is in this position because he pretended to be concerned for your safety.

He rolls his eyes at you, "I will neither confirm nor deny that I do not wish for you to die while on the mission."

You giggle, "You always say the sweetest things."

Loki laughs at that, shaking his head lightly as he walks towards the door. You follow closely and pick up your gym bag. He opens the door for you and just before you step into the hallway you say, "I really hope I don't disappoint you when we do finally get to the base."

"You couldn't possibly disappoint me darling," Loki smiles warmly at you.

"That's not what you said a few weeks ago," you remind him, trying not to focus on how much larger his smirk gets when he sees you blush.

"I have been known to be wrong once or twice in the last thousand years," he admits as he steps out into the empty hallway. "But that stays between us."

"Like the hug?" you ask with a giggle.

"What hug?" Loki says before turning to walk in the opposite direction you need to go in.

(Three days later)

You take a deep breath as the target location comes into view, the jet's radar beeping to alert everyone that you're entering the drop zone. Loki sits next to you, squeezing your hand gently, sensing your anxiety rising. He leans close so the others can't hear and whispers, "You are going to be fine. Stay close to me darling."

You nod, thinking back to Loki's promise this morning after the final briefing for the mission. He told you he would keep you safe and in return, he made you promise to stay near him. A few weeks ago, you never would have believed Loki's promise but today you trust him completely.

The pilot gives everyone the signal to get ready and you stand up, following the prince as he walks to the back of the jet. The door opens and a rush of cold wind whistles through the jet. You take a step backwards, your back bumping into Loki's chest as you watch Steve, Natasha and Clint jump to the ground far below.

Loki gently puts his hands on your arms, turning you so you are facing him without a word. There's a small smile on his face when he tugs on the straps of the bag containing your parachute, tightening them slightly then his eyes scan your uniform and belt to make sure all of your gear is in place.

"Just like we practiced darling," he smiles encouragingly, his hand resting lightly on your cheek so you are looking directly at him. "Then wait for me so we can go to the computer lab together," he reminds you again. For a brief moment, you think Loki might lean down and kiss you but instead you tell yourself now isn't the time for your crush on him to surface. He lowers his hand and you can't help but instantly miss his touch.

With another deep breath, you smile at him and nod your head. "I've got this," you say, your nerves calming as you become more confident. You've been working so hard to get to this point and it's finally here. In the last three years of working for SHIELD, you never once had a desire to be in the field but now that you're here, you want to prove to yourself and everyone else that you can do more than just sit behind a desk.

There's another reason you need this mission to go well, you want to make Loki proud of you. He spent so much time with you over the last month, helping you in session after session. Coming in early before his meetings, staying late at night, finding time on the weekends to make sure you were as ready as possible. The prince even made his own deal with you this morning, he said you could have another hug after the mission and that was all the motivation you really needed.

"Yes you do," he agrees, taking a step away from the door. "Ladies first," he chuckles and you laugh, another bit of tension leaving your body.

You step up to the open door, look at Loki briefly over your shoulder and jump from the jet exactly like he had instructed you to.

(Fifteen minutes later)

You pull the chair out quicky and sit behind the steel desk while Loki stands guard at the door that leads from the main hallway into the lab. There is a second door behind you that leads to a much smaller corridor and the prince keeps his eye on it while you get to work.

"I need about fifteen minutes," you tell the team over the comms as the system reboots.

"Try to do it in ten," Steve responds and you look up in time to see Loki roll his eyes at the sound of the captain's voice.

You fight to hold back a smile. Why does he have to be so cute when he's annoyed, you think. The computer beeps as you type in a command then insert the USB to begin pulling data off the servers.

"It will take as long as it takes captain," the God of Mischief answers for you, his tone firm yet he gives you a smile when your eyes met before you look at the screens again.

You continue to copy file after file to the USB as quickly as you can for the next few minutes. The distant sound of gunfire from above keeps you vaguely aware of where the rest of the team is. Their goal is to distract the soldiers for as long as possible while you finish your work which is thankfully almost done. "Two more minutes," you inform the team over the comms, "just a few more-"

The door behind you slams open, your heart pounds rapidly in your chest as your hand moves to the empty holster on your belt. The God of Mischief yells something but you don't hear the words, rising to your feet to reach for your gun across the desk. You had removed it from your belt and placed it there before crawling underneath the desk to move a few cables right after you arrived. As soon as you are on your feet with your hand on the gun, you see the soldiers rush into the room but in an instant their faces fill with fear and you look towards Loki.

Turning your head, all you see is a bright flash of green rushing towards you as Loki's seider reaches across the room and slams into you.

(Later that night)

You groan and open your eyes slowly, squinting at the sudden brightness around you. A faint beeping in time with your heartbeat fills the room as everything comes into focus after blinking a few times. Pale blue walls surround you, the smell of antiseptic and sanitizer makes you scrunch your nose then it hits you. Oh crap, I'm in the infirmary, you realize suddenly.

"Welcome back," says a friendly voice to your left and you feel the light tug of an IV in your arm when you shift on the bed. You turn your head to face the voice but the quick movement makes you dizzy and you close your eyes again with another groan. "I'll get the doctor, try not to move too fast," the nurse tells you.

Breathing slowly, you feel yourself drifting off to sleep until the door opens and closes again. You open your eyes, forcing yourself to stay awake, you're exhausted but you need to know what happened.

"Hi Y/N, I'm Dr. Palmer," she says, looking up from her tablet. "How are you feeling?"

"Everything hurts," you mumble honestly. Your whole body is sore as you try to sit up a little in the bed. When you put your hands down on either side of you for leverage you look down and see a white cast on your left wrist then look up at the doctor.

"I'm sure it does," she says, looking back down at the tablet to skim your records. "Seems like you were thrown pretty far."

"Thrown?" you ask, rubbing your temple gently when you feel a bit of gauze and wince.

"Careful," she reaches out to lower your hand away from your injury. "I'm not surprised you don't remember the incident."

"The incident?" you repeat her, looking down at your hands as you think and suddenly remember seeing a flash of green light before everything went black. "Loki?" you ask, looking up quickly which causes you to become dizzy and close your eyes again until the room stops spinning.

She waits for you to look at her again before answering. "According to the field report, the room was breached by Hydra soldiers and Loki failed to make sure you were out of the way. He threw the soldiers and you into the concrete wall at the far end of the lab."

You listen to her in silence, pieces of your memory slowly returning. The soldiers were coming... I tried to reach for my gun... no, I had gotten it, I remember feeling the metal grip in my hand... Loki yelled something at me... Loki's magic. You close your eyes tight, pushing away the fear that surfaces with the memory of seeing his seider spreading towards you so fast there was no time to react.

"I remember bits and pieces," you clear your throat and look up at Dr Palmer.

"You're memory will most likely return slowly over the next few days. You have a mild concussion, some bruises, a fractured wrist and several stitches," the doctor informs you. "You'll need to stay here tonight so we can keep an eye on you but you should be able to go home tomorrow. I want you to rest for the next week, then you should be able to return to work."

"Thanks," you mumble, staring up at the ceiling, your mind replaying the last few minutes of the mission you remember.

Dr. Palmer watches you quietly for a moment then pats your leg gently to get your attention, "Get some rest Y/N. I told the team they can visit you in the morning before you're discharged."

"Thanks," you respond again, barely listening to her. She turns and walks out of the door, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Your mind wanders back to when you first began training with Loki and you wonder if his first impression of you was right, you never should have been in the field.

(One month ago - first day of training)

You slam to the floor hard on your side, groaning in pain as the bright lights come back on and the room resets. "Shit," you mumble when you hear the observation door opening fast enough for it to hit the wall. It's the fourth time in a row you've failed at the same point in the simulation and you don't need Loki to tell you this isn't a good start to your training.

Loki's footsteps are not rushed but the heaviness of his leather boots on the tiles makes you get off the floor much faster than your body wants to. "I'm trying," you say in your defense before he utters a word.

"Not hard enough it seems," he counters in a harsh tone. "Honestly, am I wasting my time Y/L/N?"

You sigh at Loki's use of your last name, the little bit of progress you were making with him yesterday was gone as soon as you failed the simulation the first time. "No," you say, folding your arms over your chest despite how sore your elbow is. "I can do this I-"

"Possibly, if we had several months," he cuts you off, "but we have only one."

"I know," you look at the ground near where you had fallen most recently.

"As heartless as the team thinks I am, I do not actually wish for you to get killed on this mission," Loki says and you look up at him immediately. His expression is stern but his voice softens just enough for you to believe his concern for you might be real. "If you are not capable of succeeding, I suggest we put an end to this now. I do not enjoy watching you continually hurt yourself," he gestures to the bruise already forming on your cheek from a previous fall.

"I can do this, Loki," you tell him, more insistently this time. Sometime between 3 and 4 this morning you decided you were going to get this right no matter what. Your newfound determination was based mostly on your fear of failing but you were also desperate to prove Loki wrong. "Let me try it one more time," you bargain with the prince. "If I don't die in the simulation this time, you keep training me."

"And when you do die?" he asks, already expecting you to fail a fifth time.

"Then you give up on me," you tell him with a shrug. "Tell the director you were right and I'm not good enough to go out in the field."

"Very well," Loki easily agrees to your terms, turning to walk back towards the observation room. You wait for him to wish you good luck or tell you he does want you to succeed but he doesn't say a word. Instead, he simply closes the door to the observation room, takes a seat at the controls and turns the simulation back on.

(Present - the next afternoon)

A knock on the door of the small room sends a wave of hope through you, your heart telling you Loki is finally here to visit you. You know the prince won't come but you can't stop yourself from watching the door as your excitement rises slightly. You had a lot of free time today and you spent most of it trying to figure out why Loki is the only one who hasn't visited yet.

Three potential reasons stick with you, each more upsetting than the last. Your first thought is that Loki is so disappointed in you and he doesn't even want to speak to you. The second idea you reasoned out is that he is too busy gloating and telling the team he was right about you not being capable of succeeding in the field. The third idea is the most hurtful but it's the one you feel is more likely then the others. Loki isn't going to visit because he never actually cared if you got hurt. Calling you darling and seeming like he enjoyed being with you was just an act by the trickster god to get you to train harder, pushing you through pain and exhaustion.

"Hi Y/N," Thor smiles at you warmly when he opens the door and sees you standing by the bed, picking up the bag with your belongings the nurse brought it. "Glad to see you back on your feet so quickly."

"Thanks," you give him the same forced smile you gave Steve, Natasha and Clint when they visited earlier. The three of them stopped by only briefly but it was long enough to reassure them that you were fine. You honestly didn't mind them only staying for a few minutes, you were still tired and it was hard to pretend you weren't let down that Loki wasn't with them.

"Dr. Palmer said I'm doing better than expected so she discharged me," you tell him then walk towards the door.

"Heading home?" he asks, holding the door open for you.

"Yeah, I'll be back in a week," you tell him as you walk through the infirmary together. "Oh, actually I should probably stop by Steve's office before I leave right? I didn't get to write up my report on the mission, obviously, but I can do it from home."

"He already filed the case notes, I just came from the debriefing," Thor informs you.

"Wait, how?" you ask when he opens the door to the infirmary that leads back to the main building. "I thought he needed a report from everyone who was in the field."

"Loki explained what happened," he says, not looking at you as you make your way down the hallway. He sighs, "My brother is on probation again and he's lucky it's only three weeks. Tony was pushing for longer but-"

"Why is he on probation?" you stop walking.

"Because of what happened," Thor says as if that should be obvious. He gestures to your broken wrist, "He could have killed you."

"It wasn't his fault," you defend Loki without even thinking.

"He said it was," Thor starts walking slowly again and you stay with him. "We listened to the recordings of your comms, we could hear Loki yell for you to get down and only a few seconds later we heard him attack the Hydra soldiers and unfortunately you as well. Even if he had not admitted to being at fault, it's clear he did not make sure you were out of harms way before unleashing his magic."

"But that's not what happened," you grab his arm to stop him from walking towards the elevators again and he gives you a confused look. "I heard Loki say something right after the door slammed open but I was distracted looking for my gun. I got up to get it-"

Thor shakes his head, "You got up? You weren't already standing between him and the soldiers?"

"No, I was sitting. I stood up after the door opened, after he yelled," you explain, both of you heading to the elevators.

"And he knew that?" Thor asks, pushing the button on the wall.

"Yeah, he was literally looking right at me when they broke into the room," you tell him remembering the smile Loki gave you when you told them you were almost done. "Steve told me I was supposed to listen to Loki and instead of getting down like he said, I stood up. I got right in the path of his magic."

"Why would he lie about that?" Thor asks when you both get in the waiting elevator, you shrug in response. "This is truly odd. My brother rarely accepts blame for things he has been caught doing," he says, pushing the button to take you down. "I do not understand why he would insist this was his fault if what you say is true."

"I don't know why either but I'm going to ask him," you look up at Thor.

"He is in his room," Thor tells you. "He did not want to speak to me or anyone else after the meeting, I doubt he will come out anytime soon."

"How do I get there?" you've never been to the Avenger's quarters before and you don't want to wander around until you find him.

Thor smiles as he gestures towards the elevator panel and it's then you realize he didn't push the button for the ground floor like you had assumed. "I had a feeling you would want to speak with him," he says.

You walk down the hall, counting doors until you get to the one Thor told you belongs to his brother. Before you can lose your nerve, you clear your throat and you knock loudly. Loki opens the door a moment later and stares at you in silence, clearly not expecting you to have been the one knocking.

"Y/N, what are-" he tries to form a sentence but it dies off when you walk past him into his room without saying a word. He stands at the door watching you take a seat on his couch with a mixture of confusion and anxiousness. Loki closes the door but remains near it, almost as if he's afraid to come too close to you.

"Are you okay?" he asks when you still don't speak. His eyes focus on your broken wrist for a long moment before he sees the gauze covering the stitches on your temple.

"I'm fine," you respond vaguely then ask him what you really want to know. "Why did you lie about what happened?"

"I did not lie, Y/N," he says, still standing by the door. His eyes fall from yours to a space on the floor between you. "I hurt you, I should be help accountable for my actions."

"You know it wasn't your fault," you tell him and he shakes his head. "I wasn't standing in between you and the soldiers until after you warned me, I know you remember that."

"The specifics do not matter," Loki insists.

"Why not?" you ask, standing as you get annoyed with his refusal to answer your questions openly. "Do you think you need to take all the blame because you're the one who said I was ready for the mission? Or do you think you're helping me by trying to hide how stupid of a mistake I made?"

"Please, let it go," the prince says, his back almost against the door as you take a step towards him.

"Let it go, seriously? Loki, they put on probation because we miscommunicated. I can just tell Fury and Steve the truth and then you won't be in trouble," you suggest, feeling guilty that he's been punished.

"It is not necessary," the God shakes his head with no explanation which only annoys you more.

"Loki," you try again, taking a few more steps in his direction. "You just got off probation last year. You shouldn't be back on it cause of-"

"Just stop," his voice is stern you look at him, stunned into silence. He runs his fingers through his long hair and you bite your lip, thinking it was a mistake to come here. "I am sorry I just... Y/N, I have bigger concerns right now than my status on the team. I do not care about the probation."

"What's a bigger concern?" you ask, he finally moves away from the wall, closing the distance between you.

His eyes fall to your cast briefly then he looks into your eyes. Loki sighs, "You are."

"Me?" the word leaves your mouth quickly in disbelief. "If you were so worried, why didn't you visit me? Everyone else did, even Thor came."

"I wanted to but I honestly thought I would be the last person you wanted to see," he gives you an answer that never even crossed your mind.

"Loki, you were the only one I wanted to see," you tell him and now it's the god's turn to look at you in disbelief. You reach out and take his hand, "Every time the door opened, I hoped it was you. I just wanted to see you."

He squeezes your hand gently, "Darling, I am sorry I did not visit."

You can't help but smile a little when he calls you darling. "It's okay," you say but he shakes his head.

"None of this is okay," Loki let's go of your hand then strokes your cheek lightly. "Y/N, I am so sorry for hurting you. I promised to keep you protect you, to keep you safe while we were in the field and I failed to do so, I am the reason you are injured. I can not apologize enough darling. Please forgive me."

"I know you didn't hurt me on purpose," you put your hand over his. "And I promise, I really am okay. It's just a broken wrist and a few stitches, it's not a big deal," you decide to leave out the mild concussion to not make him feel worse. "You can ask Dr. Palmer if you don't believe me," you smile more sincerely than you have all day.

You watch him finally relax as his hand lowers and he smiles a little, "I believe you."

"Good," you sound more excited than you meant to and he chuckles lightly. "And before I forget, you owe me something and I plan on collecting."

"What do I owe you?" he furrows his brow.

"A hug," you smile wider. "You said I could have another one after the mission."

His expression changes quickly, a smile replacing his confusion. "A debt I am more than happy to pay," he says and you giggle.

You don't waste a second, pressing your body against his as you wrap your arms around him tightly. Your cheek rests on his chest and you close your eyes as you relax. He's quiet, one of his hands holding you around your lower back while his other hand moves slowly up and down your back. After a few seconds, you feel him press his lips to the top of your head lightly and blush instantly.

You lean back just enough to look up at him and he smiles but you can almost feel his sudden nervousness. Without thinking, you move and kiss him lightly but as soon as you feel his lips against yours, your body fills with panic. You try to pull away from the hug completely but Loki holds you in place against his body.

"I'm sorry, that was-" you don't look at him, embarrassed that you acted on impulse. You have wanted to kiss Loki for weeks, ever since your crush became more intense but this was absolutely not a good idea.

"You should be sorry darling," he says in a tone you recognize. It was the voice he used when you couldn't help but think he was flirting with you even though you tried to convince yourself he wasn't. You lift your head and look up at him, swallowing nervously when he smirks. "I wanted to kiss you first," the prince explains.

"You wanted to-" you try to repeat his words but they don't make any sense. You put your hands on his chest and distance yourself slightly but he keeps you gently in place. "I'm sorry. I've got a concussion, it almost sounded like you wanted to kiss me first," you giggle awkwardly as you look up at him.

He looks at you with concern, his smile fading quicky, "You did not tell me you had a head injury. Are you certain you should be out of bed?"

"Oh... right, yeah. I guess I left that out. I just didn't want to make you feel any worse but it's fine. It's just like a teeny tiny concussion," you tell him quickly. "Wait... no, don't get me off topic. That's not what I wanted to talk about. Why would you say that? You wanted to kiss me?"

He chuckles, "You are so cute when you are like this."

You blush deeply when he calls you cute and you press your cheek to his chest to hide again. Just a second later, you feel Loki's hand on your warm cheek as he tilts your head up. "You heard me correctly darling, head injury or not," the prince answers your question with another smirk. Before you can respond, Loki bends down slightly, pressing his lips to yours. He holds your body tightly and you give into the kiss easily, closing your eyes as your hands grip the fabric on the back of his shirt.

When he finally pulls back to break the kiss you can't do anything but giggle and he laughs while he plays with the ends of your hair. "So... you think I'm cute?" you ask him.

"I think you are truly stunning and I am amazed by you," Loki says with a smile that causes you to blush even deeper than before. "I had planned on asking you out on a date after the mission, when you came to get the hug I owed you but then I hurt-"

You place a soft kiss to Loki's lips, "Don't you dare blame yourself again."

He gives you a warm smile, "If I keep doing it, will you keep kissing me like that?"

"No," you laugh. "I'll probably tickle you or something."

"I would like to see you try darling," he smirks, taking your hand to pull you towards the couch.

"Oh, I should probably still talk to Steve and Fury," you tell him. "So you're not in trouble or on probation anymore."

"Absolutely not," he sits down and shakes his head.

You sit next to him and he puts his arm around your waist, keeping you close to him. "Why not?" you ask as you cuddle against him as if you've done it dozens of times.

"Because now I will have more free time to spend with you," he smiles and kisses the top of your head.

"I do like how that sounds," you kiss his cheek and lean on him comfortably. "Especially since I have the next week off, doctor's orders."

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[glasvera]

if your request still open, can I request with Loki with fem reader?? Reader is also a magican/witch with star/celestial magic like channel power of the sun/moon or summon meteors(In Marvel comic I don't notice many or any characters who use this type of magic much, which differentiate her fron other magic users) They have some bicker about magic and teasing while in battle, getting jealous with someone got too close with another and basically a tsundere to each other. Until other heroes started teasing them both then they start opening up their feelings. I hope this is not too much!

Okay, first of all, I am SO SORRY this took so long! My requests had originally filled up when I first got this ask, but I liked the idea of it so much that I wanted to go ahead and carry it over to the next batch I did. It also kinda turned more into a "rivals to lovers" sort of thing with more focus on them bickering, but I hope you still enjoy!

Vexing

Loki x Fem!CelestialWitch!Reader

Description: One has the powers of a god. The other has celestial power to rival that of the gods. Surely that won't affect anyone's fragile egos and bring about a rivalry that is definitely not a cover for underlying romantic tensions, right?

Warnings/Disclaimers: (Marvel) Rivals to lovers, mild (canon typical) violence, Loki gets a meteor chucked at him, Loki gets pinned to the ground, lots of name calling

A/N: I love putting Loki in Situations™. Also, I've been playing a LOT of Baldur's Gate 3 lately, so I feel like some Astarion crept into my Loki characterization. I think I have a soft spot for devilish, cocky guys with tragic/muddled pasts.

Word Count: 2.7k

It was business as usual on the front lines. Your team prepared themselves in a small yet intricately designed and gilded bedroom while awaiting the order to move. Of course, with it being his, Loki takes advantage of the downtime to lounge across the bed. Emerald eyes stare daggers into yours. 

“Careless.”

“Insensible.”

“Infuriating.”

“Egotistical.”

“Irreverent!”

“...Cowardly.”

Loki gasps, hand over his heart, pausing this ridiculous, verbose exchange of insults that was all too common between the two of you.

“I am many things, you fool, but to call me cowardly--”

You sneer, victorious. Rare was it that words cut him so deep. Rarer still for only one to accomplish it. A snicker hisses through your teeth.

“What do you call that last battle, then? When you left me to die?” you accuse, fully aware of the exaggeration of your aforementioned situation. Command of celestial forces meant you were hardly ever in a position quite so dire or lethal.

He scoffs in disgust. “I call that trust in my allies. Duty called me elsewhere, and you handle yourself well enough.” He gives you a once-over from head to toe and back up again, crossing his arms. “Clearly you made it back unscathed. Mostly.”

“Excuses,” you retort. Still, his compliment doesn't escape you even under the veneer of irritation. “You were invisible the moment someone aimed a gun at you.”

“Well forgive me if I have a sense of self-preservation!” he snaps.

“Can you two lovebirds keep it down!?” Rocket butts in. Clawed fingertips massage at his own temples. “You're giving me a flarking headache!”

That’s the one and only thing that bothers you both more than each other. “We are not lovebirds!” you argue in unison.

The raccoon bristles at your combined exclamation, using his oversized gun to gesture wildly at both of you while he talks. “Yeah, right! Maybe if you idiots exchanged spit instead of insults, the rest of us could enjoy a bit of peace and quiet!”

You flinch away from the firearm and feel your face heat up in a frustrating cocktail of embarrassment and anger. One glance at Loki reveals a flushed face with teeth bared in a snarl. Still, you refuse to admit just how alike the two of you really are. After all, if you're so much alike, then you might as well have spent all this time hurling insults at a mirror.

“That you would even suggest such a thing is more potent an insult than anything either of us have conjured,” Loki bemoans. “I wouldn't dare taint my lips with the likes of this… this starry-eyed witch.”

“Take that back,” you snarl, embarrassment gone and replaced with the competitive fervor that comprises much of your rivalry. “You're just jealous that I wouldn't let you.”

“Pah!” he exclaims. “Projection is a terrible look on you, my dear.”

Power courses quietly through your veins. Under the guise of rolling your eyes and puffing out a sigh, the swift incantation goes miraculously unnoticed. You cross your arms wordlessly and stare at him. Your hip pops out. The silence draws an inquisitive, distrustful side-eye from Loki, but you simply watch and wait. It's only a matter of time now.

“Stop staring at me like that. It’s unsettling.” His lip curls as he sits upright on the mattress, crossing his legs. You catch the twitch of his eye as the seconds go by. “What is wrong with you!? I know I must be lovely to look at, but--”

A meteor crashes through the ceiling and into Loki and his pristine four-poster bed. Everyone except you scrambles away from the wreckage as stone and dust clatter and crunch from the impact. A high-pitched screech sounds from beneath the fiery rock. With a wave of your hand, the celestial matter crumbles into glittering stardust, leaving a slightly crushed and charred Loki crumpled atop the ruined emerald sheets.

“How…” He braces himself on one arm before his hand slips on the rubble dusted silk, leaving him to face plant right back onto the bed. “How dare you, you… you lunatic!?!” Embers glow at the fringe of his cloak and he yelps before frantically slapping it to put out the budding flames.

You don’t grace him with an answer. You simply giggle at his misfortune.

-----

Things like that were becoming the new normal between you two. In fact, you often spent more time in training and scrimmages sabotaging each other than you did fighting the enemy team. It was headache inducing for everyone involved.

One day, while the two of you were wholly consumed with your argument, three of your teammates huddled together to discuss strategy. Not strategy for the upcoming battle, mind you.

They needed a strategy to get the two of you to work with the rest of your team.

“I say we just use these flark-faces as meat shields,” Rocket suggests, irritation clear as day as his lips pull back over his sharp teeth. “Maybe the rest of us will survive longer.”

“I am Groot.” He closes his eyes solemnly and shakes his woody head.

“I know it’s messed up, Groot. But is it really more messed up than covering their asses!?” the raccoon argues.

“I am Groot,” the tree counters with a nod.

“A gentle touch!?” he exclaims. “Have you seen these idiots?” He gestures with a paw towards the two of you, still oblivious to the rest of the world as you shout obscenities back and forth. “They wouldn’t notice a flarking slap to the face unless it came from one of them!”

“He… may have a point,” Adam Warlock chimes in, bringing a fist to his chin pensively.

Rocket narrows his beady eyes at the golden man. “Who, me? Or mister sunshine and rainbows over here?”

“Dare I say both?” he responds hesitantly. When that only intensifies Rocket’s squinting, he continues. “Perhaps if one or both of them felt encouraged to perform their duties…”

“Yeah. Right. These are full grown adults, ya golden dunce. You can't just slap a gold star on their forehead and expect them to behave.”

“I am Groot.”

“I know you'd like a gold star, Groot. That's not the flarking point right now!”

“Just…” Adam interrupts, holding up a golden palm towards them. “Allow me, if you will.”

As expected, you and Loki are so caught up in the throes of your heated argument that you nearly jump out of your skin upon feeling a gentle finger tapping your shoulder from behind.

“By the stars, I--!” You clasp a hand over your heart in shock. But the tension fades upon seeing the newcomer’s face. “Oh, Adam. It’s just you.”

The golden man smiles warmly. “Forgive the interruption. I had hoped to discuss strategy with you before the upcoming battle.” He proffers a hand to you. “Would you care to join me?”

Loki cocks his head to the side and scoffs quite loudly. One hand finds his hip as he leans towards the so-called “perfect” being.

“Excuse me?” Loki was not about to be ignored. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, considering you were grown in a lab, but I always expected a bit more decorum from you.” The barbed words are accompanied by the curl of his lip and the furrowing of his perfectly trimmed brows.

You hadn’t even had the chance to accept Adam’s offer. You’re not even sure you were going to in the first place. But if this was to be your rival’s reaction to such an innocent gesture, far be it from you to deny yourself the pleasure of his irritation. Your eyes narrow, crinkling a bit in the corners as your lips pull into a cheshire grin.

“His manners are perfect, if you ask me. As is his taste. Clearly you’re not needed for this conversation, Loki Laufeyson.” You take a step forward, prodding a finger into the supple, silken fabrics he adorned himself in. Delicious adrenaline courses through your veins as you allow yourself to indulge in this daring cockiness. “Know when to step aside for your betters, hm?”

“That was not my intention--”

Loki ignores the golden man completely as he slaps your hand off of him. “My betters? Dare I remind you that it is I who was assigned the role of strategist on this team?” he hisses. “If anyone misunderstands their place here, it is you.”

His face is dangerously close to yours now, nearly spitting his words onto your skin. You glower at him, daring him to continue, to dig further down the grave he’s already begun for himself.

“You are a duelist. Yet you can’t even excel at that, can you? Face it. You are worthless on your own,” he jeers.

Tension snaps. Adam is long forgotten as your fists find their places at his collar, crumpling the expensive garment as you express your barely concealed rage behind the sharp exhale that hisses through your teeth. Suddenly you’re pushing him to the ground, pinning him beneath your body weight, practically snarling as your face hovers inches above his.

“I can duel just fine, you disgusting snake,” you snap. “But I’m happy to continue this little demonstration if you’re not yet convinced.”

“If the two of you could please just--”

“Leave them, Goldie. We tried,” Rocket interjects. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, they’ll kill each other, and then we’ll get new teammates!”

“I am Groot!” If trees could gasp, that would perhaps be the best way to describe the noise coming from their verdant companion.

Yet none of it matters. None of the others matter.

All you can hear is the frantic cadence of your own heartbeat.

And all you can feel is Loki pinned beneath you with his own heart pounding in his chest.

You press your forearm against his clavicle, just beneath his throat. A warning.

Loki has never excelled at heeding warnings.

“Well?” he sneers. “I am on the edge of my proverbial seat waiting for the rest of your… demonstration, my dear.” His tone is taunting, teasing even, with a face that is the picture of calm. Still, you know the organ caged in his ribs beats to an entirely different rhythm. 

And yet still you stay your hand. For Loki is nothing if not deceptive, resourceful, clever. All the wonderful little compliments you daren’t feed his ego with by admitting them aloud.

“I vex you, don’t I?” he whispers with a coy smirk tugging at his irritating lips.

Your forearm inches higher, applying pressure to the base of his throat. It merely restricts the airflow rather than cutting it off completely, but clearly more than warnings were needed.

“Projection is a terrible look on you,” you retort with a tilt of your head.

He chokes out a laugh. “Ah, how wonderful it is to know my words have lingered this long in that pretty little head of yours.” He nearly had you with that. Nearly. But neither one of you missed the tail end of his attempted jab. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Your current position suddenly feels much more compromising than before.

No. He’s toying with you. You have to stand your ground.

Fire with fire, then.

“I would never claim to have had a normal childhood,” you begin, perplexion twisting Loki’s features at your sudden change in topic, “but I do remember that the adults loved to talk about how boys would always tease the girls they liked.” Satisfaction bubbles within you as you watch the realization and resulting irritation dawn upon him. “Never believed it until now.”

The master of deception is quick to mask the way you so easily riled him up. “Childish nonsense.”

“Then why were you turning red a moment ago?” you ask with a snicker. You know it’s a lie, but you need to dig your claws in further, crawl deeper underneath his skin.

“Perhaps that is because of the brute on top of me that is trying to choke me!” he exclaims with no small effort.

You roll your eyes and withdraw your arm, but you’re quick to grab his wrists and pin them above his head. Can’t be too careful.

…Even if it means you’re practically straddling the object of your ire.

“There. Better?”

Though he does his best to hide it, the god of mischief does feel a blush burgeoning beneath the surface of his skin now. A celestial goddess sits atop him, loathe as he is to admit it. Or, at least, as close as any mortal being could get to godhood. Some part of him deep down finds you deserving of the title.

Truly, you were much closer to the mark than he would ever willingly admit. When he looks at you there is fascination and vexation in equal measure, yet above all there is respect. After all, only those who have earned his respect are worthy to be deemed a proper rival of the Asgardian god.

And when Adam had come to speak with you? Oh. He couldn’t care less about strategizing with the team. But the fact that you interacted so willingly, so amicably with a man with more goodness and light in his heart than Loki could ever hope to achieve across all lifetimes? It was unthinkable. Unbearable.

“Loki? Anybody home in there?” Your voice interrupts the turbulent flood of feelings miring any coherent thought in his mind. To his surprise, he thinks he detects a hint of concern in your tone.

“Simply plotting your demise in silence,” he finally replies in jest.

A laugh huffs through your nostrils. “I would have assumed that would be second nature for you by now.”

There’s a shift in the air. You’re not glaring at him anymore. Your grip remains firm in restraining him, but you’re careful not to cut off circulation. 

Vexing, indeed.

His head thumps softly against the ground beneath you as he lets out a dramatic sigh. “Perhaps it is difficult for you to imagine, but I think of things other than you throughout the day.”

“So you are thinking about me?” you retort with a cheeky grin. He winces. Damn. He walked into that one. But if there’s anyone who could meet your wit, surpass it even, it was him.

Fire with fire.

“And what if I am?” he counters boldly, his emerald gaze meeting yours unflinchingly.

Oh. Well… shit. You don’t have time to rein in the soft, surprised gasp that whispers through your slackened jaw. You blink several times, as though that might somehow blink this situation out of existence, and your eyes dart around everywhere but Loki’s face. What composure you had left was crumbling. You feel too close to him now, releasing your grip as you sit upright.

The two of you have exchanged countless banters, infinite contests of insults and prose, yet your actions now have spoken more clearly of your true feelings than anything he’s heard from your lips.

He shifts, and you let him, until he has propped himself up with you still straddling his lap. You feel confused, frozen, intrigued. When words continue to fail you, he speaks again.

“Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible to admit that you plague my thoughts nearly every waking moment,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper as his hand delicately cups your chin. The pad of his thumb brushes gingerly over the plush of your parted lips. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible if you admitted the same of me.”

“You…” Your breath tickles his thumb. Words are difficult to come by when his admission has utterly stupefied you. Still, subtle glances speak clearly enough. Loki is nothing if not perceptive.

“Yes, me,” he replies cheekily. Fingers tug your chin closer as hooded eyes fixate upon your lips. “It’s always about me, after all.”

A quiet snort leaves you. “You’re right. You do vex me.” Still, you lean in until your lips are a hairsbreadth apart from his. There was an undeniable something between you. These sparks were not of your celestial doing, after all.

He chortles, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. Delicate, soft lips press almost tenderly to yours for but a fleeting moment. “The feeling is mutual, my dear.”

[pinkiebieberpie]

dating mob boss!bucky is a dream come true... kind of- he is the sweetest guy you've ever met and you simply have no idea how such a good guy ended up doing what he is doing; guns, drugs, blood?? this handsome guy??? but that's the reality of his life; you are not married or engaged, just dating and you are living together since what feels like forever; you can't count how many times bucky came home covered in blood (it's weirdly attractive, cause c'mon!!! hot.) but he cares about you deeply, he will do anything for you, he always takes care of you, spoils you... after all you are dating very rich mafia boss and there is nothing he can't get you; "anything for you, angel", "we really should go on vacation, i need you all to myself 24/7, in my arms, no work, just us" and said vacations are magical... fancy hotel on some very warm island, sunny and sandy beach, perfect weather and the two of you enjoying each others company; bucky barnes may be a cold blood murderer when he is working, but with you? soft but firm touch, his hands all over you, his lips on your skin... "fuck, i love you baby... i need you so bad, we should go back to our room..."; if you are not on vacation it's always a fancy party, some meetings with his business partners, oh one day you will be a perfect mob wife~ on the other hand he doesn't want you to get hurt and in his line of work it's very easy to get hurt... the amount of times he tried to convince you that you will be better without him is crazy- you stayed everytime.

masterlists

(also can we just talk about this seb's mirror selfie??? i'm about to explode, pvssy WET.)

[spitefulsatanfics]

🕯️🎼 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 🎼🕯️

“Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.” — Dean Winchester, Supernatural

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Pairing: Dean Winchester x Hunter!Y/N (She/Her Reader) From: Supernatural (TV Series) Tone: Fluff, Feel-Good Romance, Domestic Romance, Humor, Lovesick!Dean, Found Family, Birthday Feels, Emotional Softness Rating: 17+ Warnings: Language, emotional vulnerability, domestic fluff overload, Dean’s aggressively obvious love language Based on: Supernatural, Season 11–12 (Canon-Adjacent, Rated 17+) Word Count: 6,812 Synopsis: Y/N doesn’t expect anything for her birthday—hunters don’t do cake and candles. But Dean Winchester has a funny way of rewriting the rules. And when your gift comes on four wheels and looks suspiciously like his Baby? Well. That’s Dean for I love you. 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚢: 𝙻𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕 ♡ 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 & 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍: 𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝟸𝟿, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟻™

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The idea starts on a Tuesday. Cold beer in hand, classic rock humming low through the bunker’s speakers. Dean’s alone in the garage, turning a wrench over something busted on Baby’s undercarriage when it hits him—not the idea, not yet. Just the thought of her.

Y/N.

She’s somewhere upstairs, probably cleaning her guns or arguing with Sam over some lore. Probably rolling her eyes at something Dean said earlier. Probably still thinking birthdays don’t mean a damn thing to hunters.

Which is bullshit. And he’s gonna prove it.

It starts small.

A search. Then another. Then five. Craigslist, junkyards, forums full of greased-up freaks with busted knuckles and rusted dreams. Dean burns through listings like salt on a grave, until one night—two weeks before her birthday—he sees her.

Not Y/N. The car.

A 1967 Chevy Impala. Same body. Same soul. She’s rough around the edges, all grit and potential, sitting under a tarp in a field two states over. The guy selling her doesn’t know what he’s got. Dean texts him at 2AM and buys it blind.

And then the real work begins.

° ° °

He drives out in secret. Lies through his teeth to Sam—some solo salt-and-burn he’ll "handle quick." Three days. Two gas station burritos. One overheated radiator. But Dean gets her home.

The new Baby’s a mess. Her engine rattles, her upholstery’s torn, and there’s a damn wasps' nest in her glove compartment. But Dean looks at her like he’s found treasure.

Because this isn’t just a car.

This is how he says I love you.

° ° °

Every night, after hunts, after meals, after Y/N crashes early with bourbon and a book, Dean sneaks back to the garage.

He spends hours in the quiet, sleeves rolled, music low, fingers working through wires and carburetors. He polishes chrome and reupholsters seats. Customizes her stereo with a killer cassette deck. Installs hidden weapons compartments under the trunk lining.

It’s muscle memory and magic. Blood, sweat, and Motor City soul. And through it all, he’s smiling like an idiot.

Because he can already see her face.

° ° °

Her birthday morning comes like any other—except it isn’t.

Y/N stumbles into the kitchen in a flannel too big and socks too mismatched, bleary-eyed and unprepared. She’s halfway through a coffee pour when Dean appears behind her, suspiciously chipper.

“You busy today?” he asks, casually sipping his own mug.

She narrows her eyes. “Define busy.”

“I need you outside.”

“Dean, if this is another ‘teach me how to rebuild a carburetor’ stunt—”

“Just trust me.”

She does. Of course she does.

He leads her down to the garage, heart hammering like he’s about to pop the question instead of pop the trunk.

The air still smells like fresh gravel when he stops her short.

“Hands out,” he says.

She raises a brow. “Dean—”

“C’mon, birthday girl. Humor me.”

Sighing, she offers her palms, and he drops the keys into them—cool metal against warm skin.

Then—

“Open your eyes.”

° ° °

There she is.

Black as night. Clean as sin. Gleaming like a mirror to Dean’s own Baby—but with her own spark. Her own life. A twin, but not a clone.

Y/N’s mouth parts. No sound comes out.

“You didn’t.”

Dean’s grin is all pride and grease-stained love. “Oh, I did.”

She circles the car slowly, reverent hands brushing the hood, the doors, the chrome.

“You built me my own Baby?”

Dean shrugs. “Figured it was easier than saying things out loud.”

Y/N turns to him, eyes soft and glassy. The kind of look that melts something inside him—something he's kept bolted tight for years.

“You’re an idiot,” she whispers.

“An idiot who loves you,” he says.

Then she tackles him.

° ° °

They take her out that night.

It’s a salt-and-burn an hour out, nothing dangerous—just a chance to let her drive. Let the new Baby get her wheels bloody. Let Dean watch her behind the wheel like it’s the sexiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

Which it is.

“You ever tell me,” he drawls, sunglasses perched, “how stupid-hot you look driving a '67 Impala?”

Y/N snorts. “You ever shut up?”

“Only when I’m kissing you.”

She quirks a brow. “Then stop stalling, Winchester.”

They don’t make it past mile marker fifty before pulling over.

° ° °

The moon’s high. The sky’s velvet. And they’re sprawled in the backseat like a cliché and loving every second.

Her legs are over his lap, his fingers trailing slow circles along her knee. There’s music playing—some old Zeppelin track that bleeds through the speakers like smoke. Their breath mingles in the dark, warm and unhurried.

“You know this is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” she murmurs.

Dean leans in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Just wait till next year. I’m thinking matching flamethrowers.”

She laughs into his chest.

They stay there for hours—talking, kissing, existing in a world that, for once, doesn’t want to burn them down.

° ° °

Back at the Bunker, they stumble into the kitchen at 2AM, half-drunk on love and moonlight. There’s cold pizza and warm beer and a silence that’s safe, full.

Y/N leans on the counter, watching him.

“You didn’t have to do all that, you know.”

Dean shrugs, suddenly shy. “Yeah, I did.”

She smiles. “You could’ve just said ‘I love you.’”

“I did,” he says, walking up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Every bolt. Every polish. Every hidden blade in that trunk. It all said it.”

Y/N kisses him.

Not like a thank-you. Not like a birthday gift.

Like she means it. Like he means it.

When they part, Dean rests his forehead against hers.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

She grins, eyes shining. “Best damn one I’ve ever had.”

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🛠️ 🖤 𝙀𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙚. 𝙋𝙤𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙠. 🖤 🛠️

[briefalpacashark]

~The Rally Driver~

Warnings: A bit of swearing. Death. Guns.

Synopsis: You and the 141 get in a car chase. You're the driver.

Perfect song to listen to while reading.

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You rarely had a mission in the heart of a city. But there you were, in the heart of London hauling ass down a street, the boys hot on your heels. You all tuckered yourself around an alleyway hiding from the array of bullets. 

“This is a shit show,” Price grunted as he checked the nick on his arm. 

“Yeah no shit,” you chuckled nervously, going to reload only to find you were out of ammo. 

“I'm out,” As you chucked the empty magazine to the side, your head snapped up at the sound it made. Your eyes took in what you assumed was a car under a fancy-looking tarp. 

“Hold on, I've got an idea,” you announced. The boys barely spared you a glance as you walked up to the car, yanking the cover off. A low, impressed whistle left your lips as you took it in. A 1969 Dodge Charger painted in a sexy navy black sat in front of you. You almost cried as you slammed your elbow into the window, smashing it. Slipping in, you worked a little magic. (Stabbing a small knife into the ignition and turning it). The engin roared to life, gathering the boy's attention.

“Get in bitches!” You called excitedly. Quickly, they piled into the car. Simon in the passenger seat, Price, Gaz and Jonny in the back, left to right in the respective order.

"Seatbelts on," you called.

"Nows not really the time to be worrin about taht love," Jonny chuckled.

"Seat belts save lives. Put them on or I'm turning this car around," you threatened.

"Were not even moving," Jonny grumbled but they all obeyed. As soon as you heard all four clicks you took off. You slammed the gear stick forward and put the pedal to the metal. You gave all the boys whiplash as you tore out of the alleyway. 

“She's got a bit more of kick then I though,” you chuckled excitedly, ignoring the boy's desperate need to get there seat belts on. Guessing your position in the car the enemies got off a few shots, the glass from the rear window shattering and running down upon you all. You shoot through the gears, zooming down the street. Gaz let out a strangled scream as his body was pushed into the back of the seat. Now the streets of London weren't necessarily long, they were a maze of old and new architecture. Which meant there were a lot of sharp turns. With expertise you skidded, turned and slipped around every corner with ease, rarely losing the speed you were building up. 

“You're crazy!” Jonny yelled.

“Don't worry, crazy people can still drive,” you shoot back. As the group held on for their life, you couldn't help but smile at the thrill driving gave you. 

“PEOPLE! PEOPLE! PEOPLE!” Price yelled, pointing to the group of drunken club goers crossing the street.

“Dont fucken back seat drive. I can see them” you yelled, swinging the car to the side, missing the group, and using the sidewalk as your new road. You took a sharp intake of breath when you saw the restaurant that had seating set up on said sidewalk. The road next to you was filled with cars so you couldn't move. You slammed your hand down on the horn, the few occupants quick to scramble out of the way as they saw the car barreling maliciously towards them. The car plowed through the seat tables and food. Simon stared at you as you casually flicked the wipers on, cleaning the window from the wine and food.

“Oh that smells lovely. We should get dinner there next time,” you suggested casually as you returned the car to the actual road. 

“TRUCK!” Simon yelled as he spotted a truck pulling out of an alleyway. Jerking your hand break up, you turned quickly, slowing just enough for the corner of the truck to scrape along the driver's side of the car. The screeching sound of metal on metal filled your ears as the side mirror disappeared in the near miss. 

“That didn't sound good,” you  mumbled, hanging half out of the window to look at the damage.

“GET INSIDE THE FUCKEN CAR!” Gaz yelled.

“Alright, I think everyone just needs to calm down,” you said gently, turning around to face the panicked passengers. As you did so she caught the look of a certain pissed of enemies pursuing you in another car. 

“KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD!” Simon yelled. He looked hilarious, propping his large body the best he could in the corner of the seat. “Hey don't tell me how to drive. Why don't you be useful and use your little toy on our little friends” you asked slowly turning back to the front to return to driving. The boys turned round, spotting your pursuers. Simon threw half his body out the window as he started to fire, and they fired right back. The rest of the boys quickly joined Simon's efforts. 

“Does anyone have a map?” you asked casually through the gun fire. Simon cursed as his gun ran out of bullets. 

“No, we don't have a fucken map,” Ghost growled as he slipped back into his seat, throwing the gun down. Coming to a roundabout you smoothly drifted the car round Gaz struggling to understand the physics of a car driving sideways.

“Should you even be driving?” Gaz yelled. He had given up returning fire and handed his gun to Jonny. He was much more focused on the danger in the car. 

“I don't think so. You know I think there should be a law that if you fail your driving test ten times, then you shouldn't ever get one,” you chuckled, half jokingly.

“YOU FAILED YOUR DRIVING TEST TEN TIMES!?” Gaz screamed just about to pass out from the fear. “Of course not,” you reached back, patting his knee comfortingly.

“It was more like eighteen,” you stated. 

“Oh lord help me,” he whispered. The boys grinned at the interaction.

“I'm out,” Price announced. Jonny got off a few more shots before repeating his words. The poor night  inhabitants of the town were plunged into confusion at the cars that drove through there streets like rally drivers. A rally driver would be the only way the boys could describe your driving. It scared them shitless. But they had to admit, you were good, really good. You were quickly forming distance with the other car. Ghost reached across you where you usually held your gun.

“Lieutenant, so forward?” you chuckled. 

“Gun,” the simple word was meant to explain what he was doing. 

“Safe word?” you asked teasingly, making him look up at you with a small glare. A glare that momentarily faltered due to your close proximity. He hated to admit it, but his body flushed in attraction. You pose having one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear stick and the annoying smirk sent his heart racing. You chuckled at what you assumed was an are you serious look. You grabbed his hand and moved it to your lower back, sliding it down to meet the gun you had tucked into the back of your pants. Clearing his throat, he pulled the gun free, returning to the window, firing another shoot. 

“Drive straight!” he yelled struggling to keep his balance.

“You shoot straight,” you shoot back but tried your best to steady the car. Steady enough for him to land a hit dead center in the driver's head. To your shock, the passenger kicked the man's body out the door and continued driving.

“Shit,” he hissed, firing off more shots failing to see the fast approaching wall. You did, however. Reaching out, you grabbed onto the first thing your hand landed on. Which just so happened to be his belt buckle. Yanking him back into the car, he narrowly missed decapitation. His eyes snapped down to the grip you had on his belt, your hand pulling the material taunt.

“Close one, lieutenant,” you spared a grin at him, releasing his belt buckle. Simon was surprised, yet not entirely against it. Dare he say, even slightly aroused? 

“This place is like a maze,” you mentioned, taking her time to look at the signs.

“You are way too calm for this,” Simon huffed, going to fire again only to find that he was out of bullets. “Shit,” he whispered. Luckily, after another quick turn it seemed like you had lost them.

“Well, there's no point in panicking. Sure he's firing at us but there a terrible shot. Ain't that right boss?’ you asked, glancing back at Price that for a man with great composure looked like he was about to lose his shit. 

“Please focus on the road!” Price begged.

“Alright well.I feel like I'm taking a tour through this town. Where am i doing?” you asked.

“Head west,” he ordered. “Alright cool,” you nodded, pausing for a few moments. “Which way is west?” you asked.

“Left!” he snapped. Jokingly, you held up your hands. Holding your thumb and index finger into L shapes.

“SARGENT!” Price snapped.

“Ok ok, sorry!” you whispered back, making a quick left turn, a quick left turn that had them headed in the west direction, a direction that put them directly in line with an all too familiar car. The enemy. They had cut you off.

“Shit,” you whispered. Slamming into the break. The car came to a screeching stop. Almost sent Ghost through the windscreen. The driver in the opposite car gave you a shit-eating grin as his allies poked themselves out of the windows.

“Get down!” You yelled. Everyone did so, including you as you slammed the car into reverse, taking off just as fast as you had before. Gritting your teeth, you prayed for luck as they opened fire. Snapping up, you placed your hand on the back of Simon's head rest and not to toot your own horn, but drove like a boss ass bitch. Backwards. At full speed, weaving and jerking side to side doing your best to dodge the bullets. The chase was back on, with you doing your best to drive backwards. Waving and dodging cars as perfectly as you had done before. There just wasn't any room to turn the car around. And your near miss count was going up with every passing second. 

“Oh my god we're gonna die,” Gaz stated simply as he watched you. 

“Not today, bud,” you stated. You saw it, you slammed the hand brake up, throwing the car around barely losing any speed as you returned to forward face driving. Your eyes searched for your exit, anything. Then you saw it, A Little bridge in the distance.

“How long can you guys hold your breath?” you asked.

“What?” Jonny asked.

“Answer the fucking question!” You snapped.

“A long fucking time!” Ghost yelled.

“Alright, everyone, windows down seat belts off,” you ordered.

“Um fuck no,” Gaz stated, simply holding tighter onto his life line.

“Do it now!” You snapped. 

“Wanna fill us in on your plan?” Price asked.

“We're going for a swim. Everyone brace yourself,” you ordered, cutting the lights off. You took a sharp turn at the building, cutting off the view of the car behind. And in one quick jerk, you threw the car off the side of the walkway. You cut the engine just as the car hit the water under the bridge. The car was quickly submerged as you all clambered out. Well, almost all. You grunted as something caught on your ankle. You assumed it was the seat belt. Your hand reached for your knife as it pulled you deeper and deeper into the depths. Only your knife wasn't there. It was in the car's ignition. You reached for it, trying desperately to rip it out to no avail. Shit. You were running out of air as you struggled to untangle your foot. Only you had no light, and you couldn't figure out how it had snagged itself on you. You felt your body getting tired, panic started to set in. Your limited vision started to fade and your lungs burnt for air. Shit, you thought. As you started to acknowledge your possible death, your body went limp as you fought for the last remained of your consciousness. You didn't want to die. There was still so much you wanted to do. God and the boys would never let you down if this was how you would die. They would tease you shitless in the afterlife. You were about to let it go when a set of hands grabbed your shoulders. They gave you a yank, quickly discovering you were caught on something. Their hands patted you down till they found the culprit slicing the seat belt. They swam you back to the surface, you gasping like a fish out of water at the much needed oxygen. Sighs of relief sounded as you briefly caught a glimpse of the skull mask on the face eof the man who kept you afloat resting your upper back on his shoulder.

Ghost had saved you.

“Fucken hell,” Ghost whispered. You couldn't really tell due to the lack of oxygen but you could have sworn you felt him pull you closer to him, his chin pressing against your head in an awkward hug. Price swam over to you, taking your face into his hand.

“You alright, Sargent?” he asked. After a few more gasps of air, you nodded, pulling a thumbs up. 

With deep breaths you all waded in the water waiting as you heard the other car approach. As it drove over the bridge and off into the distance. You had lost them.

“Well, personally, I think that went well,” you said with a cheerful grin. The boys all chuckled as they somewhat relaxed. 

“Do you even have a license?” Gaz asked.

“An Australian one, yes,” you nodded.

“But then again, the police officer doing my test was drunk when I drove him home,” You shrugged casually, earning another set of chuckles. Reaching up you hugged Simon arm tightly. “Thank for saving my ass big guy,” you whispered.

“Don't scare me like that again, you hear me?" he grumbled holding you impossibly closer.

"No promises," you stated.

"Hey what was that bout seat belts saving lives again?" he asked as he sawm you to shore. You simply chuckled shaking your head.

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--COD Master List here--

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[thinkingofausername]

Jason Todd's story will always be The Story to me.

On the surface he's a buff and gruff guy with guns, a comic-book character from the world of Batman, popularly associated with dudebros and their macho view on said characters.

Underneath that is one of the most potential-filled stories I've ever encountered.

First came Batman, Bruce Wayne, a man of wealth, reputation, resilience, innovation. Practically synonymous with vigilantism. Next was Nightwing, Dick Grayson, the Boy Wonder, the original Robin. Batman's greatest success. All that Batman is, and should be, and then some. Wide smile, bright eyes, a star since childhood.

Then came Jason Todd.

A scrawny boy from the streets, caught stealing a tire from the Batmobile, in the very street where Batman's parents were killed, on the very anniversary of the event. Batman laughed.

That little boy in a yellow cape, heart-shaped strands of hair on his forehead, believed being Robin gives him magic. He liked school, liked learning, liked homework. He liked reading. He was a theatre kid. For all the anger Dick carried when he was Robin, Jason was bright.

The last thing Jason did was try to save the life of someone who never cared about him.

He found his biological mother, who walked away and never looked back. She watched Joker beat him with a crowbar nearly to death. She watched a lunatic strike a boy, even smaller than his age would have it, with steel, again and again and again. She smoked a cigarette.

As the warehouse was about to explode, Jason, in pain as he was, shielded the woman who happened to be his mother. A vixen watched her cub thrash and bleed, caught in a trap, and still the little one yanked its mangled leg free and limped to cover its mother from a hunter's gun.

Jason Todd died that night.

Bruce was a mentor more than a father, Jason a sidekick more than a child. Dick would come to regret not giving more attention to someone who could've been his younger brother.

Jason, from this point on, would be known as Batman's greatest failure. A cautionary tale, a fallen soldier, a bloodied yellow cape bigger than the body which had worn it.

To wake up in a pool of overwhelmingly glowing green, wrapped in bandages head to toe, surrounded by cloaked strangers, when the last thing you remember is pain, fear, fire. His death wasn't merciful and neither was his resurrection.

He saw a stranger in the mirror. He died a malnourished child and awoke thrice his size, a white streak in his hair, eyes gone from blue to green, an autopsy scar on his chest. A discarded child, to a short-lived sidekick, to a walking corpse. As Robin he wore a mask, he would do so later on as well, and with the mask off he would see himself no clearer.

Robin's suit worn by a new kid, regardless of the last one's tragic end. The maniac responsible for his death still alive and free to walk the streets.

You are a cautionary tale and yet no caution was taken to prevent your tale from being repeated. You were neither avenged, nor was justice carried out. You are young, feeling aged in a way you shouldn't be. You are alone, life went on without you. Your death changed nothing. The world lost you and yet there's no empty space in sight, not even a dusty one.

Driven by rage and desperation, dressed in a costume of muscle and bullets when still a boy lie underneath, he faced the one he wanted to be his father. He got his throat slit.

He came back from the dead, did the unthinkable, appeared when it was believed he would never be seen outside of hallucinations and memories. He bared his belly, as he had the tendency to do.

He asked if his death meant anything. A batarang was thrown at his neck. Canines dug in when that mouth should've been licking wounds.

It seems a son couldn't get a father's love even after digging himself out of his own grave. It seems a victim couldn't ask for justice from the one who claims to be justice in a suit.

Still, he does as he always did. Protects, fights, prevents, avenges.

For all his intelligence, patience, calculation, resilience, vulnerability - only his rage is seen. A walking, seething, irrational failure filled with violence is what he's presented as. Just as he reached a warm hand after sleeping on a cold ground, his arm was broken for thinking comfort is lasting. Any attempt to voice his gut sinking in remembrance is heard as senseless shouting.

Bruce will always be right, Dick will always be better, Damien can call himself a son.

Joker shot Barbara and left her immobile, took pictures of her in the most vulnerable and petrified state one can be in, and still Jason is mad for wanting him gone. Still, Bruce would cling to his twisted morals rather than prevent future victimhood.

It's a story of solitude, potential, vulnerability, justice, endurance.

It's a story of a brightness overlooked under the shadow of tragedy.

It's a story of one most human, so ultimately and beautifully human, in a world of magic, mutants, superheroes. He can't lift a house with his bear hands, he won't put on a dazzling smile and performance. Though a billionaire's past sidekick, though beyond capable in thought and action, he is firstly a person in the highest and more honest way. Palpable among ones otherworldly.

It's a story of one who's lived through countless losses, and still he gives. He couldn't be a child, a pupil, a son. Bruce did what he thought was best and offered training and danger to lost and hurting kids he deemed would go down the wrong path unless guided by vigilantism's hand. Jason couldn't be an adolescent, make stupid mistakes, have an innocent crush. His path was paved with violence and survival very early on.

It's a story of becoming the person who would've saved you when you needed it most.